a 


m  Majorca 


"      > 


LIBRARY 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Class 


WITH   A   CAMERA 
IN    MAJORCA 


MAJORCAN    COUNTRY   GIRLS. 


WITH    A   CAMERA 
IN    MAJORCA 


BY 

MARGARET    D'ESTE 

AUTHOR  OF  "THROUGH  CORSICA  WITH  A  CAMERA 


Kennst  Du  das  Land  wo  die  Cit rotten  bliihn, 
fin  dunklen  Laub  die  Gold-Orangen  gli'ihn, 
Ein  sanfter  Wind  vom  blatien  Himmel  weht, 
Die  Myrte  still  und  hock  der  Lorbeer  steht, 

Kennst  Du  es  wohl 7 


With    Illustrations    from    Photographs 
by  Mrs.  R.  M.  King 


G.    P.   PUTNAM'S    SONS 

NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 

Ifcntcfeerbocfeer   press 

1907 


(All  rights  reserved. 


Contents 


PART  I 


PALMA  AND  ITS  IMMEDIATE  VICINITY — POETO  Pi — 

BELLVEB — CASTLE  OP  ALAR6 — EAXA       .  .  1 

PART  II 

OUR  FIRST  TOUR  IN  THE  ISLAND: — FELANITX — 
SANTUIRI  CASTLE — ORATORIO  DE  SAN  SALVADOR 
— PORT  OF  MANACOR — DRAGON  CAVES — CAVES 
OF  ARTA — CAP  DE  PERA  ....  44 

SECOND    TOUR: — ANDRAITX  —  SAN  TELMO  —  ESTAL- 

LENCHS — BANALBUFAR       ....  66 

THIRD  TOUR: — VALLDEM6SA—  MIRAMAR — SOLLER— 

^FORNALUTX  ...  78 

FOURTH  TOUR  : — ALCUDIA — POLLENSA — CASTILLO  DEL 
EEY — MONASTERY  OF  LLUCH — GORCH  BLAU — 
INCA  ......  94 

PART  III 

ISLAND    OF    IVIZA  —  SANTA    EULALIA  —  PHOENICIAN 

NECROPOLIS — SALT  WORKS  .  .  .          121 

PART  IV 

MINORCA — PORT    MAHON — PREHISTORIC    ALTARS — 

ClUDADELA — EOCK  DWELLINGS     .  .  .          142 

vii 

222799 


List  of  Illustrations 


MAJORCAN  COUNTRY  GIRLS  .  .  .    Frontispiece 

VIEW  OF  PALMA          ....  Face  p.      2 

SIGNAL  TOWER  AT  PORTO  Pi                   .  ,,            3 

PUERTA  SANTA  MARGARITA     .            .            .  ,,           8 

PUERTA  SANTA  CATALINA.            .            .  „            9 

VIEW  FROM  THE  GRAND  HOTEL         .            .  ,,10 

SENTRY  Box  ON  THE  EAMPARTS  .            .            .  11 

PATIO  WITH  BANANA  CLUMP         .            .  „          12 

STREET  IN  PALMA       .            .                         .  ,,13 

PATIO  WITH  WELL      .            .            .            .  ,,14 

PATIO  IN  THE  CALLE  ZAVELLA    .            .  ,,          15 

ARAB  BATHS    .....  ,,16 

DOOR  OF  MONTESION  CHURCH      .            .  ,,         17 

CLOISTERS  OF  S.  FRANCISCO  ...  ,,18 

CLOISTERS,  UPPER  CORRIDOR       .            .  ,,19 

STAIRCASE  OF  PRIVATE  HOUSE           .            .  ,,20 

STREET  OF  THE  ALMUDAINA         .            .  ,,          21 

LONJA  ......  ,,22 

DOOR  OF  S.  FRANCISCO     .            .            .  ,,         23 

GIRL  WEARING  THE  EEBOSILLO         .            .  ,,28 
IVIZAN  HOUND       .            .            .            .            .         ,,          29 

la 


x                  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

PATIO  IN  BELLVEE  CASTLE     .  .          Face  p.     32 

IN  THE  GARDEN  OF  EAXA             .  .                     ,,33 

CURIOUS  OLIVE-TREE               .  ,,36 

GATE-TOWER  AT  ALARO  CASTLE  .               ,,          37 

CURIOUS  OLIVE-TREE        .            .  ,,38 

CURIOUS  OLIVE-TREE         .  ,,39 

A  WIND-WHEEL            .             .             .  .               ,,46 

GROUP  OF  WINDMILLS      .            .  .                               47 

A  WINDMILL   ...  ,,52 

SANTUIRI  CASTLE,  INTERIOR  .                     ,,53 

SANTUIRI  CASTLE,  EXTERIOR   .            .  .               ,,54 
ORATORIO  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  S.  SALVADOR           .         ,,          55 

VIEW  OF  ARTA      ...  ,,60 

WOMEN  WEEDING  A  WHEATFIELD     .  ,,61 

ENTRANCE  TO  THE  CAVES  OF  ARTA  .  ,,64 

FISHERMAN  IN  PHRYGIAN  CAP       .  .            .                   65 

VIEW  OF  ESTALLENCHS           .            .  .              ,,74 

INTERIOR  OF  HOUSE  IN  VILLAGE  .                     ,,          75 

GEORGE  SAND'S  BOOMS  AT  VALLDEMOSA       .  ,,80 

VIEW  ON  NORTH  COAST  OF  MAJORCA  .                     ,,81 

STREET  AT  THE  PORT  OF  SOLLER     .  .               ,,86 

PALMER  FROM  THE  HOLY  LAND  .  .                     ,,87 

VIEW  OF  SOLLER        .             .             .  .               ,,90 

OLD  HOUSE  AT  FORNALUTX  „          91 

COURTYARD  AT  ALFADIA          .  ,,94 

EOMAN  GATE,  ALCUDIA     .  95 

BAY  OF  ALCUDIA         ...  ,.96 

MOORISH  WATERWHEEL    .            .  .                               97 

BAY  OF  SAN  VICENTE              .  ,,        100 

ANCIENT  COSTUME  OF  MAJORCA  .  101 


List  of  Illustrations  xi 

COCK  FOUNTAIN  AT  POLLENSA           .            .          Face  p.  104 

EOMAN  BRIDGE,  POLLENSA           .  .                     ,,  105 

CASTILLO  DEL  BEY     .            .            .            .               „  108 

GORCH  BLAU         .            .            .  .                    ,,  109 

PLA  DE  CUBA              ....               „  116 

VIEW  OF  THE  PLAIN  AROUND  INCA  .            .         ,,  117 

TOWN  OF  IVIZA            .            .            .            .               „  124 

BAY  OF  IVIZA        .            .            .  .                    „  125 

A  PURVEYOR  OF  DRINKING  WATER   .            .               ,,  126 

MOORISH  TYPE  OF  HOUSE             .  .                     „  127 

IVIZAN  PEASANTS        .            .            .            .               ,,  130 

VIEW  OF  SANTA  EULALIA             .  .  131 

PORCH  OF  CHURCH,  S.  EULALIA        .            .               „  134 

PHOENICIAN  TOMBS             .            .  .                     ,,  135 

FORTIFIED  CHURCH  OF  SAN  JORGE     .            .               ,,  138 

SALT  WORKS,  IVIZA          .            .  .                     ,,  139 

TALAYOT  OF  TORELLO,  MINORCA        .            .               „  148 

PREHISTORIC  ALTAR,  TALATO-DE-DALT  .            .        „  149 

OUR  GALARETA            ....               „  152 

A  WILD  OLIVE-TREE         .             .  .                     „  153 

NAU-DE-TUDONS                                                            -^  156 

ALTAR  OF  TORRE  TRENCADO         .  .                     „  157 

PIGS'  PALACE  AND  PREHISTORIC  PYLON        .               ,,  158 

MEGALITHIC  DWELLING                 .  .                     ,,  159 

EOCK-CUT  DWELLINGS,  SAN  MORELL            .               „  164 

INTERIOR  OF  EOCK-CUT  DWELLING  165 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE 

To  those  who  are  unacquainted  with  the  Spanish  lan- 
guage, the  pronunciation  of  Majorcan  names  is  such  a 
stumbling  block  that  the  following  phonetic  rendering  of 
some  of  those  most  frequently  met  with  may  be  found 
useful : — 


Jaime 
Lonja 
Andraitx 

= 

Ha-ee-may 
Loan-ha 
An-dreitsch 

j  Soller 
Iviza 
Mahon 

= 

Sole-yair 
E-veess-a 
M'hone 

Lluch 

= 

Lee-ook 

Aubercuix 

= 

0-ber-cootsh 

Puig  (signifying  Peak)    =  Pootsch 
Bafialbufar  =  Ban-yal-boo-far 

Felanitx  =  Fay-la-neetsch 


PART  I 


IN  the  spring  of  1906  we  found  ourselves  with  three 
months  to  devote  to  foreign  travel,  and  after  some 
deliberation  we  decided  to  spend  them  in  exploring  those 
"  lies  oubliees  "  of  the  Mediterranean — Majorca,  Minorca, 
and  Iviza — and  in  ascertaining  for  ourselves  whether  they 
were  worth  visiting  and  what  were  the  possibilities  of  a 
stay  there. 

Their  names,  it  is  true,  lingered  in  our  memories  like 
some  familiar  echo  from  far-off  schoolroom  days,  but  with 
regard  to  all  practical  details  we  were  extremely  ignorant, 
and  it  was  without  knowing  a  soul  in  the  islands  or  a 
soul  who  had  ever  been  there,  that  we  set  out  on  the  last 
day  of  January  to  visit  the  Balearics — those  homes  of 
famous  slingers. 

A  railway  journey  of  twenty-two  hours  takes  the 
traveller  from  Paris  to  Barcelona  by  way  of  Toulouse. 
The  change  from  France  to  Spain  is  an  abrupt  one.  After 
racing  through  flat  lands  of  vine,  through  sand  dunes  and 
salt  lagoons,  one  crosses  the  frontier  into  a  dry  place  of 

2  i 


"  With  at  Camera  in  Majorca 

red  and  orange  hills,  where  stone  villages  stand  bare  and 
unshrinking  in  the  strong  sunlight,  and  here  and  there  a 
palm — solitary  outpost  of  the  south — waves  her  dusty 
plumes ;  and  the  night  falls  suddenly  upon  a  sky  crystal 
clear,  as  the  sun  slips  in  glory  behind  the  strong  outline 
of  the  purple  Pyrenees. 


An  old  writer  has  left  it  on  record  that  the  thing  which 
chiefly  repented  him  in  his  life  was  having  gone  anywhere 
by  sea  when  he  might  have  gone  by  land.  Since  it  is 
decreed,  however,  that  islands  shall  be  reached  by  water, 
one  subject  of  remorse  was  spared  us  as  we  boarded  the 
steamship  Miramar  at  half-past  six  on  the  evening  of 
February  5th.  And  so  great  is  the  power  of  comparatives 
to  cheer,  that  though  the  worst  of  sailors,  we  derived  a 
certain  happiness  from  the  reflection  that  we  had  at  any 
rate  chosen  the  lesser  evil  in  sailing  from  Barcelona  instead 
of  taking  the  twenty-four  hour  crossing  from  Marseilles. 

Behold  us  then  at  dawn  gliding  into  the  Bay  of  Palma 
and  gazing  around  us  with  that  undefined  expectancy 
that  even  in  these  prosaic  days  of  travel  tinges  with 
romance  the  landing  on  an  unknown  shore. 

Here  is  nothing  of  the  wild  and  rugged  mountain 
scenery  that  meets  the  eye  on  approaching  Ajaccio. 
Eather  like  some  Fortunate  Isle  safe  from  the  reach  of 
tempests  does  Majorca  lie  serene  and  dreaming  upon  the 
water.  The  great  bay  opening  to  the  south  is  enclosed 


US 


f>    _CO 

5  e 

5  _5 


1 


"...     the  little  harbour  of  Porto  Pi,  guarded  by  an  old 
Moorish  signal  tower." 

(\>  - 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  3 

upon  the  east  by  a  level  shore  terminating  far  out  at  sea 
in  the  blue  headland  of  Cape  Blanco,  while  closer  at  hand 
the  western  coast  line  is  indented  with  many  a  rocky 
promontory  and  wooded  headland  curving  down  to  the 
harbour's  rim.  A  low  cliff  of  orange  sandstone  encircles 
like  a  sea  wall  the  head  of  the  bay,  and  upon  this  cliff 
stands  Palma,  a  sea  of  colourless  houses  massed  upon  the 
water's  edge  and  stretching  backwards  to  the  wide  plain 
— deep  blue  and  level  well-nigh  as  the  sea  itself — that 
forms  the  background  to  the  town  and  to  the  great 
cathedral  that  towers  high  above  all  other  buildings. 

At  its  eastern  rim  the  plain  rises  slightly  to  the  double 
peaks  of  the  Puig  de  Eanda,  far  inland ;  on  the  west  the 
panorama  is  closed  by  a  distant  range  of  sapphire  blue 
mountains,  the  Sierra  of  the  interior. 

We  land,  and  are  rattled  quickly  away  in  an  omnibus 
to  the  Grand  Hotel — but  a  few  minutes  distant  from  the 
quay.  It  was  no  small  relief  to  find  that  we  were  spared 
a  further  encounter  with  the  Spanish  douane,  for  the 
ruthless  violation  of  our  trunks  at  the  frontier  station 
of  Port  Bou  was  still  fresh  in  our  memory,  while  the 
very  hour  of  our  sailing  from  Barcelona  had  been  marked 
by  a  last  attempt  at  extortion.  A  Customs  official  who 
was  patrolling  the  wharf  in  all  the  glory  of  helmet  and 
sword,  took  upon  himself  to  detain  a  packing  case  of  ours, 
containing  a  saddle,  and,  on  the  ground  that  he  could  not 
see  what  was  inside,  he  forbade  it  to  be  put  on  board. 

It  was  late — it  was  dark — the  boat  was  about  to  sail, 
and  we  had  retired  to  our  cabin.  Our  hired  porter  raved 


4  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

and  shrieked  upon  the  quay,  then  came  to  us  and  said 
we  must  have  the  case  opened  or  it  would  be  left  behind. 
I  stumbled  upstairs  again,  my  Spanish  deserting  me  at 
such  a  rate  that  by  the  time  I  reached  the  shore  my 
vocabulary  was  literally  reduced  to  the  one  word,  sombrero 
—which,  unhappily,  did  not  bear  upon  the  matter.  The 
douanier  was  polite,  but  firm.  With  shrugged  shoulders 
he  said  the  Senorita  would  comprehend  that  with  the  best 
will  in  the  world  he  could  not  see  through  a  deal  board. 

At  that  moment  the  gleam  of  a  street  lamp  fell  upon  an 
upturned  palm  protruding  from  beneath  the  military 
cape — and  into  it  I  slipped  a  peseta,  which  produced  such 
a  furious  access  of  shrugging  and  protestation  that  for 
one  brief  moment  I  thought  I  had  insulted  the  man.  But 
on  looking  round  I  saw  that  all  was  well,  porter  and  case 
being  already  half-way  on  deck — and  with  a  sense  of  deep 
annoyance  at  having  tipped  a  person  I  would  willingly 
have  fined,  I  followed  them  and  went  to  bed. 

On  the  Palma  quay  all  is  peace.  By  a  simple  arrange- 
ment involving  a  certain  annual  subsidy  to  the  Customs 
officials,  the  proprietor  of  the  Grand  Hotel  has  ensured 
protection  for  his  guests'  luggage,  which  escapes  even  the 
most  nominal  examination.  The  hotel  omnibus  merely 
draws  up  for  a  moment  in  front  of  the  Douane  on  enter- 
ing the  town;  the  officials,  armed  with  long  probing 
rods,  saunter  out,  open  the  carriage  door  and  wish  us 
good  day — and  on  we  go  again. 

The  town  is  still  half  asleep,  and  as  we  drive  up  to 
the  hotel  its  shutters  are  being  unshipped  by  yawning 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  5 

faquins.  We  find  a  large  and  handsome  five-storied 
building  with  an  imposing  fagade,  and  balconied  windows 
that  look  out  upon  the  small  central  square  of  the  town. 
The  interior  conveys  a  truly  southern  impression  of 
silence  and  space,  due  to  the  great  expanses  of  marble 
pavement  and  to  the  cool  stone  walls  and  passages  which 
prevent  the  conveyance  of  sound.  The  dining  hall  is 
immense ;  so  are  the  lobbies  that  run  round  the  central 
well  of  the  house,  and  off  which  the  bedrooms  open. 
We  go  upstairs,  and  within  an  hour  of  our  arrival  have 
become  pensionnaires  of  the  hotel  at  10s.  a  head  a  day, 
and  are  installed  in  two  excellent  rooms  on  the  third 
floor,  comfortably  furnished,  fitted  with  electric  bells  and 
light,  heated  by  hot  water,  and  reached  by  a  lift,  while 
our  wants  are  being  ministered  to  by  a  cheerful  white- 
capped  chambermaid  answering  to  the  name  of  Dolores. 


With  brains  still  jumbled  by  travel  it  is  almost  impos- 
sible to  realise,  in  the  midst  of  such  up-to-date  comfort, 
that  we  are  really  and  actually  in  Majorca — an  island 
that  might,  for  all  we  knew  to  the  contrary  a  few  weeks 
ago,  have  proved  an  inhospitable  rock.  Memories  recur  of 
nights  spent  en  route  at  Paris  and  Toulouse,  and  we  go 
to  the  window  half-expecting  to  see  a  vista  of  wide  boule- 
vards and  to  hear  the  familiar  clanging  of  electric  trams 
as  they  glide  up  and  down  some  arcaded  street  of  cafes 
and  shopfronts. 


6  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

We  are  sharply  recalled  from  such  visions  :  a  sea  of 
pale  yellow-ochre  tiles,  unbroken,  though  intersected  by 
narrow  crevasse-like  streets,  stretches  down  to  a  strip  of 
brilliant  blue  water  in  the  harbour  below.  On  flat 
house  tops  lines  of  wet  linen  flap  wildly  in  sun  and  wind. 
Jutting  up  above  the  mass  of  irregular  roofs  are  fantastic 
turrets  and  aviaries,  painted  blue  and  red,  the  homes  of 
innumerable  pigeons  now  wheeling  in  flocks  over  the 
town,  their  wings  singing  as  they  cleave  the  air  above 
our  heads.  From  scattered  belfrys  and  towers  un- 
melodious  bells  clash  out  wildly  for  a  few  moments 
and  then  relapse  into  silence ;  and  like  a  running 
accompaniment  to  the  murmur  of  the  streets  is  heard 
the  gobble,  gobble  of  many  turkeys,  and  the  bright  eye 
of  one  of  these  birds  is  seen  watching  us  fixedly  through 
the  Venetian  shutters  of  a  small  upper  room  across  the 
way.  No,  truly !  this  is  all  very  unlike  a  northern  city. 

Majorca  is  in  fact  a  stepping-stone  between  Europe 
and  Africa,  where  the  East  and  West — rather  than  the 
north  and  south  of  her  geographical  position — may  be 
said  to  meet. 

She  has  had  many  masters  in  her  day:  the  earliest 
colonists  of  whom  we  have  any  record  were  the  sea- 
faring Khodians,  who  were  said  to  build  "  as  though  for 
eternity."  But  not  the  faintest  trace  of  their  occupation 
survives.  Their  successors  were  the  Carthaginians,  who 
left  footprints  in  Minorca  by  founding  Mahon,  the  capital, 
the  reputed  birthplace  of  Hannibal.  Then  came  the 
Eomans,  who  in  123  B.C.  founded  Palma  and  Pollensa  ; 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  7 

Balearic  slingers  fought  under  Julius  Caesar  in  Gaul  as 
they  had  done  under  Hannibal  at  Cannae.  Five  hundred 
years  later  the  islands  were  captured  by  the  Vandals- 
were  retaken  by  the  Byzantine  general  Belisarius,  and 
fell  subsequently  with  the  greater  part  of  Spain  into  the 
hands  of  the  Visigoths. 

In  the  eighth  century  came  the  resistless  tide  of  the 
Saracens,  who  held  the  island  for  an  uninterrupted 
period  of  nearly  five  hundred  years,  and  might  have  kept 
it  longer  had  they  not  strained  the  patience  of  their 
Christian  neighbours  to  breaking  point  by  their  piratical 
habits.  They  had  become  such  a  menace  to  the  marine 
commerce  of  Europe  that  the  then  Pope  preached  a 
crusade  against  the  Balearic  bandits,  and  an  allied  fleet 
sailed  from  Pisa  and  Catalonia  in  the  twelfth  century. 
The  pirates'  nest  was  smoked  out,  Palma  succumbing 
after  a  long  and  stubborn  siege.  The  allies,  however, 
proved  unable  to  retain  their  prize,  and  the  island 
relapsed  to  the  Moors,  who  so  far  took  their  lesson  to 
heart  as  to  somewhat  amend  their  ways. 

But  the  great  assault  was  yet  to  come.  On  Sept.  6, 
1229,  Don  Jaime  I — King  of  Aragon  and  Count  of 
Barcelona — destined  to  live  in  history  by  the  title  of 
El  Conquistador,  set  sail  for  Palma  with  150  galleys  and 
18,000  soldiers,  besides  a  great  company  of  Spanish 
knights  aflame  with  religious  zeal,  the  lust  of  conquest, 
and  the  hope  of  glory.  We  are  told  that  the  Christian 
host  encountered  a  great  storm  on  the  way,  and  that 
they  were  grievously  sick  before  they  landed  near  Porto 
Pi  to  the  west  of  the  town. 


8  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

Here  the  infidels  attacked  them,  but  were  beaten  back 
and  besieged  within  the  city,  which  fell  some  three 
months  later  after  a  desperate  resistance,  and  was  entered 
by  the  victorious  Spanish  army  on  December  31,  1229. 

From  that  memorable  day  may  be  said  to  date  modern 
Palma.  Everything  around  one  testifies  to  the  break 
that  separates  the  history  of  the  town  since  the  conquest 
from  the  old  period  of  Arab  domination.  The  names  of 
the  streets  immortalise  the  Conqueror  and  succeeding 
sovereigns  or  notables  of  the  invading  race.  The 
scutcheons  that  ornament  the  public  buildings  display  the 
arms  granted  to  Palma  by  Don  Jaime — a  castle  in  the 
sea,  with  a  palm-tree  issuant,  quartered  with  the  arms  of 
Aragon  and  surmounted  by  the  Bat,  cognisance  of  the 
Counts  of  Barcelona. 

The  town  houses  of  the  aristocracy  are  the  old  palaces 
of  the  nine  noble  families  whose  ancestors  accompanied 
the  Conqueror  and  settled  in  the  island.  The  Governor's 
residence  stands  where  did  the  Moorish  sheikh's  palace ; 
the  Cathedral  occupies  the  site  of  the  principal  mosque. 
So  thorough  were  the  invaders  in  destroying  or  converting 
to  other  uses  the  Moorish  buildings,  so  fierce  was  their 
Christian  zeal — "  which  spared  not  even  stones  " — that 
hardly  a  trace  remains  of  the  oriental  Palma,  that  city 
crowned  with  minarets  and  peopled  with  80,000  souls, 
which  attained  under  the  Moors  a  glory  and  magnificence 
that  have  never  since  been  equalled. 


"  The  gateway  by  which  Don  Jaime  is  said  to  have  made 
his  triumphal  entry  into  Palma  in  the  year  1229." 

(page  10) 


II 


SJ  -S 

1 


s. 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  9 

The  Palma  of  the  present  day  is  a  prosperous  town  of 
some  60,000  inhabitants.  She  has  burst  her  ancient 
limits,  and  her  eastern  outskirts  are  thick  with  factories 
and  windmills  extending  to  the  plain,  while  outside  her 
western  fortifications  has  sprung  up  a  large  residential 
suburb,  and  the  wooded  slopes  above  the  bay  are  thronged 
for  miles  with  villas  and  summer  residences.  Only  the 
town  that  lies  inside  the  walls  is  the  old  Palma,  and  this 
— in  its  main  features — has  probably  altered  little  since 
the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries. 

A  wide  thoroughfare  divides  the  town  into  the  upper 
and  lower  Villas,  and  starting  from  the  harbour,  takes  a 
right  angle  near  the  Grand  Hotel  and  makes  its  exit 
through  the  Porte  Jesus  in  the  north-west  walls.  This 
is  the  principal  artery  of  the  town,  and  was  originally — 
like  the  Bambla  of  many  another  Spanish  city — the  bed 
by  which  the  river  found  its  way  to  the  sea ;  but  in  the 
year  1403  a  disastrous  flood,  causing  the  loss  of  hundreds 
of  houses  and  lives,  so  alarmed  the  inhabitants  that  the 
river  was  turned  from  its  course  and  conducted  into  the 
moat  that  surrounds  the  town.  Spanish  rivers  are  pro- 
verbial for  their  lack  of  water,  and  it  is  difficult  to  credit 
the  Biera — which  in  its  normal  state  suggests  nothing 
more  dangerous  than  a  gravel  pit  after  rain — with  such 
powers  of  destruction  in  bygone  days. 

The  gigantic  scale  of  Palma' s  encircling  fortifications 
may  perhaps  best  be  realised  by  a  glance  at  the  accom- 
panying picture,  where  the  Biera  is  seen  flowing  beneath 
the  bridge  that  leads  from  the  gate  of  Santa  Catalina  to 
the  suburb  of  the  same  name. 


10  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

The  fortifications  date  from  very  different  periods. 
The  completed  design  of  moat  and  rampart  as  it  now 
stands  was  originated  in  the  sixteenth  century  and 
only  finished  a  hundred  years  ago ;  but  remains  of 
the  old  Moorish  defences  still  exist,  though  they 
suffered  severely  in  the  great  siege  of  1229,  and  were 
strengthened  and  largely  rebuilt  by  the  Spanish  con- 
querors. 

A  picturesque  gateway  on  the  north  of  the  town,  now 
called  Santa  Margarita,  but  dubbed  by  the  Moors  the 
Gate  of  the  Christians,  is  pointed  out  as  having  been  the 
one  by  which  Don  Jaime  made  his  triumphant  entry 
into  Palma.  This  gateway,  like  the  other  survivals  of 
the  ancient  fortifications,  stands  some  way  within  the 
Muralla  of  the  present  day,  which  encompasses  the 
town  as  with  a  raised  highway — one  might  almost  say  a 
common,  so  incredibly  vast  are  the  earthworks  within 
the  walls.  Hither  the  townsfolk  ascend  at  evening  to 
enjoy  the  sea  breeze  and  the  glorious  view  over  land 
and  sea.  Cows  graze  peacefully  along  the  ramparts, 
surrounded  by  children  at  play ;  and  wheeling  flights  of 
pigeons  execute  aerial  manoeuvres  overhead,  while  squads 
of  new  recruits  march  unendingly  backwards  and  for- 
wards from  morning  to  night  in  the  dry  bed  of  the  moat 
below,  and  the  bastions  re-echo  the  sharp  words  of 
command. 

The  moat  on  the  eastern  side  is  devoted  to  rope- 
making,  and  there  men  are  seen  walking  backwards  all 
day  long,  spinning  as  they  go,  and  the  dull  thud  of  heavy 


".  .  .  the  Plaza  del  Mercado,  lying  in  the  shadow  of  the 
old  hexagonal  tower  of  San  Nicolas,  and  flanked  by  the 
great  balconied  house  of  the  Zaforteza  family." 

(page  12) 


A!  •    • 


"At    intervals    along    the   ramparts    stand    ancient   sentry 
boxes  of  weathered  sandstone  .  .  ." 


(page  ii) 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  11 

mallets  is  heard  as  they  beat  out  the  bundles  of  esparto 
grass. 

On  the  southern  ramparts  overlooking  the  harbour  and 
immediately  beneath  the  cathedral,  is  the  broad  terraced 
walk  that  forms  Palma's  most  beautiful  promenade.  At 
intervals  along  the  low  parapet  stand  ancient  sentry- 
boxes  of  weathered  sandstone,  and  one  looks  past  them 
out  to  sea,  with  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  harbour  and  its 
shipping  backed  by  the  white  suburb  of  Santa  Catalina 
and  the  pinewoods  of  Bellver.  Above  us  rise  clustered 
houses,  with  here  and  there  a  group  of  slender  palm- 
trees  leaning  from  some  garden,  and  crowning  all  stands 
the  great  cathedral,  rich  with  pinnacles  and  flying 
buttresses,  and  turning  to  the  harbour  a  cliff-like  face  of 
sandstone  deep  tanned  by  centuries  of  sun  and  sea. 

Small  wonder  that  the  townspeople  love  to  stroll  on 
their  beautiful  Muralla  de  Mar.  It  is  probably  the  only 
portion  of  the  ramparts  that  will  survive  the  work  of 
destruction  now  proceeding — for  the  doom  of  the  fortifi- 
cations is  sealed.  The  last  part  they  played  in  history 
was  during  the  Spanish  war  of  succession  in  1715,  when 
Palma  hotly  espoused  the  cause  of  the  Austrian  archduke 
and  was  reduced  by  General  Aspheld  with  an  army  of 
10,000  men.  Modern  science  has  rendered  the  old  walls 
useless  as  a  defence — modern  hygiene  considers  them  an 
undesirable  barrier  to  fresh  air. 

And  so  they  are  to  go. 

For  the  last  thirty  years  the  work  of  pulling  them  down 
has  proceeded  with  but  occasional  pauses  from  lack  of 


12  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

funds.  Already  a  wide  breach  has  been  made  on  the 
side  next  the  sea;  to  the  north  a  large  section  of  the 
moat  has  been  filled  in  and  converted  into  a  square  with 
gardens ;  and  workmen  are  now  engaged  in  throwing 
down  the  eastern  walls.  The  outer  casing  of  masonry  is 
being  gradually  stripped  off  and  the  vast  earthworks 
shovelled  into  the  moat.  To  the  onlooker  it  seems  as  if 
ants  had  been  set  to  remove  a  mountain  as  he  watches 
one  trolley-load  of  rubbish  after  another  slide  down  to 
the  glacis  below  without  making  the  slightest  perceptible 
difference. 

Yet  it  is  only  a  question  of  a  few  years  before  walls  and 
moat  alike  shall  have  vanished.  Gone  will  be  the  old 
entrance  gates  with  their  scutcheons  and  turrets  and 
their  deep  archways  of  black  shadow  where  lurks  the 
douanier  watching  for  his  prey.  Gone  will  be  the  bridges 
with  their  ceaseless  stream  of  passengers  plying  to  and 
from  the  town.  Gone — alas !  will  be  one  of  Palma's 
most  picturesque  features. 


A  cheerful  scene  greets  the  eye  of  the  stranger  who 
starts  out  on  a  voyage  of  exploration  the  morning  after 
his  arrival  at  the  Grand  Hotel.  Facing  him,  as  he 
emerges  into  the  street,  is  the  Plaza  del  Mercddo,  lying 
in  the  shadow  of  the  old  hexagonal  tower  of  the  church 
of  San  Nicolas,  and  flanked  by  the  great  balconied  house 
of  the  Zaforteza  family.  If  it  happen  to  be  a  Saturday 


"  The  patio  in  some  houses  is  merely  a  plain  courtyard 
enclosed  by  whitewashed  walls,  with  perhaps  a  clump  of 
bananas  growing  in  the  centre." 


(rags  1 4l 


"  Long  flights  of  steps  lead  to  the  higher  part  of  the  town, 
some  broad  and  shallow,  the  playground  of  innumerable 
boys  .  ." 

(page  13) 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

morning  a  busy  throng  is  congregated  on  the  square; 
the  ground  is  strewn  with  displays  of  glass  and  crockery, 
of  coarse  green  and  brown  pottery  and  graceful  waterjars, 
while  the  sellers  of  young  orange-trees,  of  toys  and 
jewellery,  of  cheap  rocking  chairs  and  folding  trestle 
bedsteads,  vie  with  one  another  in  attracting  the  atten- 
tion of  possible  purchasers. 

Long  flights  of  steps  lead  to  the  higher  part  of  the 
town — some  broad  and  shallow,  the  playground  of  in- 
numerable boys ;  others  steep  and  so  narrow  that  the  tall 
houses  almost  meet  overhead. 

The  cobbled  streets  of  the  oldest  and  most  aristocratic 
quarters  of  Palma  resemble  ravines,  and  are  barely  wide 
enough  to  admit  of  the  passage  of  the  heavy  two-wheeled 
carts  that  come  lumbering  through,  scraping  either  wall 
with  their  axles  and  compelling  foot  passengers  to  seek  the 
shelter  of  the  nearest  archway.  An  oriental  atmosphere 
of  mystery  hangs  about  the  massive,  fortress-like  walls  of 
the  great  houses  that  tower  on  either  side,  turning  to  the 
outer  world  a  blank  and  inscrutable  face  of  reserve  that 
offers  not  the  faintest  indication  of  the  life  existing 
within.  External  windows  are  represented  by  a  few 
heavily-barred  apertures  high  overhead,  but  if  you  chance 
to  find  the  great  nail-studded  porte-cochere  standing  open 
you  are  at  perfect  liberty  to  go  in  and  look  about 
you. 

The  universal  plan  of  all  the  better  houses  is  that 
inherited  from  the  Arabs — of  a  patio  or  open  courtyard 
in  the  centre  of  the  building,  from  which  a  staircase 


14  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

ascends  to  the  dwelling  rooms  on  the  first  floor.  In 
some  houses  this  patio  consists  of  nothing  more  than 
a  plain  courtyard  enclosed  by  whitewashed  walls,  with 
perhaps  a  clump  of  bananas  growing  in  the  centre ;  but 
in  the  palaces  inhabited  by  the  nobility  and  dating  back 
some  centuries  the  courtyard  is  frequently  of  great 
beauty  and  constitutes  the  chief  architectural  feature 
of  the  house. 

The  residence  of  the  Oleza  family  in  the  Calle  de  Morey 
has  a  fine  courtyard  in  Renaissance  style ;  handsome 
pillars  of  red  marble  support  the  vaultings  of  the  house, 
and  the  gallery  that  spans  the  marble  staircase  rests  upon 
a  wide  flattened  arch  bearing  the  family  coat  of  arms. 
The  ground  floor  is  devoted  to  stables,  coach-house,  and 
domestic  offices,  and  in  the  court  stands  that  character- 
istic feature  of  Moorish  and  Spanish  patios — the  well, 
from  which  the  household  draws  its  water  supply.  The 
bucket  is  lowered  from  a  wrought-iron  support  in  the 
form  of  a  crozier,  and  on  being  brought  up  brimming  its 
contents  are  upset  into  the  font-shaped  receptacle  of 
stone  close  by,  from  which  they  flow  through  an  orifice 
into  the  water  jar  placed  on  a  slab  below. 

The  palace  of  the  Marquis  de  Vivot  in  the  Calle  Zavella 
is  not  as  ancient  as  many  another,  dating  as  it  does  from 
the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century  only,  but  its 
patio  is  the  largest  in  Palma  and  certainly  one  of  the 
most  beautiful.  It  is  approached  by  fine  portes-cocheres 
and  has  in  the  centre  a  paved  space  where  carriages 
stand  at  the  foot  of  the  great  staircase.  From  eight 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  15 

beautiful  marble  columns  spring  the  graceful  arches  that 
uphold  the  house,  and  in  brilliant  relief  against  the  black 
shadows  of  the  recess  stands  out  the  clear  red  of  two 
immense  oil-jars  containing  palms. 

I  am  not  competent  to  enter  into  the  details  of  wrought 
ironwork  and  sculpture  with  which  the  patios  of  Palma 
abound,  but  even  to  the  visitor  unversed  in  architec- 
ture a  voyage  of  discovery  in  the  older  quarters  is  full 
of  interest.  The  meanest  back  street  may  produce  a 
richly-carved  window  frame  or  a  staircase  with  a  stone 
balustrade  of  quaint  and  original  design.  The  Calle  de 
Sol  boasts  a  house  front  in  purest  B6naissance  style,  five 
big  windows  on  the  first  floor  being  wreathed  in  gargoyles 
and  strange  stone  monsters. 

In  the  Calle  de  la  Almudaina  we  come  upon  an  ancient 
rnachicolated  archway  spanning  the  street.  This  once 
formed  part  of  the  wall  that  encircled  the  very  kernel 
of  the  old  Moorish  city,  and  is  the  only  survival  of  the 
five  gateways  that  afforded  entrance  to  the  Citadel. 

Not  far  from  here  is  the  equally  ancient  Moorish  Bath, 
a  small  building  some  twenty  feet  square  standing  in  an 
orange  garden.  It  is  in  the  Byzantine  style,  and  is  built 
of  small  bricks  scarcely  thicker  than  the  intervening  layers 
of  mortar.  The  circular  basin  which  no  doubt  occupied 
the  floor  of  the  building  has  disappeared,  and  the  interior 
contains  nothing  but  twelve  much-worn  pillars  standing 
in  a  square,  the  eight  centre  ones  supporting  the  cupola 
of  the  roof,  while  the  four  corner  columns  are  by  an 
ingenious — and  I  believe  very  unusual — arrangement 


16  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

omitted  from  the  circle  and  left   standing  back  in  the 
angles  of  the  building. 

An  air  of  incredible  age  pervades  this  blackened  and 
cob  webbed  relic  of  Islamism  that  lingers,  unaltered  and 
half  forgotten,  in  the  very  heart  of  the  Christian  city. 
It  forms — with  the  Almudaina  arch  and  the  signal  tower 
of  Porto  Pi — the  only  authentic  memorial  of  the  race 
which  occupied  Majorca  for  a  period  of  five  hundred 
years. 


The  churches  of  Palma  are  many.  One  of  the  oldest 
is  that  of  Monte  Sion,  which  is  said  to  have  adopted  both 
the  site  and  the  name  of  a  still  older  Jewish  synagogue  : 
as  one  skirts  its  walls,  huge,  blank,  and  dungeon-like, 
one  is  quite  unprepared  for  its  exquisite  doorway — one  of 
the  richest  pieces  of  sculpture  in  Palma.  It  is  a  fine 
specimen  of  rococo,  dating  from  1683,  and  constituting 
in  its  delicacy  of  detail  and  beauty  of  proportion  one  of 
the  finest  of  the  many  beautiful  church  doors  for  which 
Palma  is  famed. 

Scarcely  less  magnificent  is  the  west  front  of  the  great 
church  of  San  Francisco,  with  its  immense  doorway  in 
late  Kenaissance  style,  surmounted  by  an  exquisite  rose 
window.  This  church  contains  the  tomb  of  a  scion  of  a 
noble  Catalonian  house — the  famous  Eamon  Lull,  warrior, 
scholar,  and  saint — who  in  the  reign  of  Jaime  II.  founded 
a  college  for  the  instruction  of  twelve  monks  in  oriental 


"  The  exquisite  doorway  of  Montesion  is  one  of  the  richest 
pieces   of  sculpture   in    Palma." 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  17 

tongues,  and  was  himself  martyred  in  Algeria  by  the 
infidels  whom  he  went  forth  to  convert.  His  body  was 
secured  by  some  Genoese  fishermen,  who  set  sail  for 
Italy  with  their  precious  burden ;  but  when  off  the  coast 
of  Majorca  their  boat  refused  to  advance  till  the  martyr's 
body  was  brought  on  shore,  where  it  was  laid  to  rest  in 
its  native  soil  by  the  monks  of  San  Francisco. 

The  tomb  is  a  beautiful  Gothic  monument  of  red 
marble,  but  the  effigy  of  Kamon  Lull,  surrounded  by 
fretted  canopies  and  fantastic  heraldic  beasts,  is  only 
dimly  visible  in  the  deep  gloom  of  the  church. 

A  trap  door  leads  down  to  an  immense  crypt,  where  a 
huddled-up  human  skeleton  is  pointed  out  and  the  story 
told  of  a  bloody  tragedy  enacted  in  the  church  in  the  year 
1490.  Two  of  Palma's  greatest  families  were  at  deadly 
feud,  and  while  attending  the  ceremonies  of  the  Jour  des 
Morts,  upon  some  slight  pretext  came  to  blows.  The 
church  became  a  slaughter-house,  and  before  swords  were 
sheathed  more  than  three  hundred  dead  and  wounded 
were  left  on  the  field  of  battle. 

Whether  the  skeleton  in  the  crypt  is  one  of  those  that 
fell  that  memorable  day  may  be  doubted ;  but  it  is  not 
improbable,  for  the  church  and  its  monastery  were 
founded  shortly  after  the  conquest — by  monks  of  the 
order  of  St.  Francis  of  Assisi — and  were  from  earliest 
times  one  of  the  chief  places  of  burial  for  the  nobility. 
The  walls  of  the  adjoining  cloisters  are  thick  with 
scutcheons  and  memorial  tablets  to  those  who  were  once 
the  greatest  in  the  land. 

3 


18  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

A  beautiful  colonnade  of  slender  Gothic  pillars  encloses 
the  monks'  garden,  where  two  geese — sole  occupants  of 
the  Paradiso — chatter  angrily  at  the  intruder.  No  other 
sound  but  the  soft  rustlings  of  palm  branches  and  the 
whispers  of  the  wind  in  the  orange-trees  breaks  the 
silence  of  the  long  galleries  and  deserted  cells. 

From  the  upper  corridor  with  its  broken  pavement 
chequered  with  dazzling  patches  of  sunshine  one  looks  out 
from  under  the  deep  overshadowing  eaves  to  where  the 
cathedral  spires  rise  dim  and  distant  across  half  the  city. 
The  atmosphere  of  infinite  peace  that  pervades  these 
cloisters — the  sense  of  seclusion,  although  so  near  the 
busy  life  outside  the  walls — must  have  appealed  deeply 
to  the  brown-frocked  friars  who  once  paced  these 
beautiful  walks  "revolving  many  memories." 

Bitter  must  have  been  the  day  of  expulsion  when  this 
monastery,  like  all  the  others  in  the  island,  was  suppressed 
in  1835. 

The  church  of  San  Nicolas  contains  a  statue  of  Santa 
Catalina,  a  Majorcan  saint  of  great  fame,  and — incorporated 
in  the  outer  wall,  is  the  rock  on  which  she  was  sitting  in 
the  bed  of  the  Riera  at  the  moment  when  she  was 
informed  of  her  admission  into  the  convent  of  St.  Mag- 
dalen. The  interiors  of  these  southern  churches  are  so 
dark  that  it  is  with  difficulty  possible  to  make  out  the 
statues  that  occupy  the  side  chapels ;  here  may  be  seen  a 
black  Madonna  and  child  of  miraculous  power ;  there  a 
group  of  saints  laden  with  ex-votos  in  the  shape  of  flat 
silver  images  of  men  and  women  and  models  of  human 


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With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  19 

limbs,  hung  upon  their  arms  by  grateful  devotees ;  in 
another  niche  is  a  life-sized  Christ  upon  the  cross- 
wearing  a  fringed  crimson  petticoat  to  the  knees  and 
a  broad  silver  girdle  with  a  bunch  of  artificial  roses  stuck 
in  it,  while  matted  locks  of  real  hair  straggle  out  from 
beneath  the  crown  of  thorns. 

In  the  Cathedral  the  darkness  is  so  intense  by  contrast 
with  the  blinding  light  outside  that  it  is  some  considerable 
time  before  one's  eyes  become  sufficiently  accustomed  to 
the  gloom  to  perceive  the  details  of  the  rich  interior. 
The  roof  of  the  nave  rises  150  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
pavement,  and  is  divided  from  the  side  aisles  by  fourteen 
great  columns  70  feet  in  height,  slender  and  stately  as  the 
shafts  of  forest  trees.  High  overhead — where  the  delicate 
ribs  of  the  vaulting  cross — are  carved  the  armorial  shields 
of  knights,  who  for  this  privilege  paid  heavy  sums  in 
bygone  days  towards  the  building  of  the  church.  Eight 
chapels,  gorgeous  with  statues  and  gilding,  occupy  either 
side  aisle,  and  above  them  are  Gothic  windows — so  little 
suited  to  this  land  of  fierce  light  that  they  have  had  to  be 
bricked  up,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  tiny  apertures 
through  which  the  sun  shoots  golden  arrows.  The  faint 
light  that  penetrates  the  rich  rose  windows  above  the 
choir  lies  in  jewelled  stains  upon  the  pavement,  and  does 
little  to  dispel  the  solemn  gloom. 

From  the  dim  east  end,  far  away,  where  wreaths  of 
incense  rise  and  the  high  altar  is  outlined  in  brilliant 
points  of  light,  comes  the  distant  chanting  of  priests 
and  the  response  of  choir  boys — and  suddenly  a  great 


20  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

rush  of  harmony  fills  the  cathedral  as  the  voice  of  the 
organ  sinks  and  swells  like  a  storm-wind  among  the 
columns,  and  dies  trembling  away  in  the  uttermost 
recesses  of  the  great  building. 

Worshippers  move  to  and  fro  in  constant  succession ; 
men  spread  their  handkerchiefs  upon  the  stone  floor  and 
remain  upon  their  knees  in  prayer,  wholly  oblivious  of 
the  coming  and  going  around  them.  Women,  dressed  in 
deepest  black,  kneel  motionless  at  the  grilles  of  the 
various  chapels,  where  lamps  burn  with  a  dull  red  spark 
before  the  image  of  saint  or  Saviour.  A  stately  Suisse  in 
wig  and  gown  paces  up  and  down  and  receives  the  visitor 
desirous  of  seeing  the  treasures  of  the  sacristy  ;  here  are 
exhibited  heavy  silver  candelabra,  embroidered  vest- 
ments, jewelled  crosses,  and  reliquaries — and  in  company 
with  these  may  be  seen,  bedizened  with  tawdry  velvet 
and  sham  ermine,  the  mummified  body  of  Majorca's 
second  king,  Don  Jaime  II.,  who  died  in  the  year 
1311. 

It  was  in  the  old  church  of  Santa  Eulalia,  not  far 
away,  that  in  1256  a  general  assembly  was  called  to 
proclaim  this  Don  Jaime — the  second  son  of  the  Con- 
queror— heir  to  the  crown  of  Majorca,  his  elder  brother's 
inheritance  being  the  throne  of  Aragon,  which  carried 
with  it  a  merely  nominal  suzerainty  over  the  island 
kingdom.  Before  long,  however,  a  dispute  arose  over  the 
terms  of  allegiance  due  to  the  King  of  Aragon,  and  in 
1285  Don  Jaime  was  dispossessed  of  his  kingdom  by 
Alfonso  III.  for  thirteen  years,  after  which  time  it  was 


"  The  machicolated  archway  spanning  the  street  of  the 
Almudaina  is  the  only  survival  of  the  five  gateways  that 
afforded  entrance  to  the  Citadel  ." 

(page  15) 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  21 

restored  to  him  by  the  usurper's  son,  and  retained  till  his 
death. 

He  was  succeeded  by  his  son  Sancho,  who  died  without 
children,  and  the  crown  then  passed  to  his  uncle,  the 
fourth  son  of  the  Conqueror,  and  through  him  to  Don 
Jaime  III.,  the  last  King  of  Majorca,  who  fell  upon  the 
field  of  Lluchmayor  in  1349,  in  a  last  attempt  to  regain 
the  crown  wrested  from  him  by  Pedro  IV.  of  Aragon. 

So  ended — within  little  more  than  a  hundred  years  of 
its  creation — the  independent  monarchy  founded  by  Jaime 
the  Conqueror,  and  the  islands  have  from  that  time  been 
incorporated  with  the  kingdom  of  Aragon. 

In  the  fine  sixteenth-century  town  hall  is  preserved  a 
full-length  portrait  of  the  Conqueror,  which  represents 
him  as  a  grave-faced  man  with  a  pointed  beard  and  hair 
cut  square  upon  the  shoulders,  robed  in  crimson  mantle, 
ermine  collar,  crown,  and  sword.  For  many  centuries  it 
was  the  custom  to  celebrate  the  anniversary  of  the 
capture  of  Palma  by  exhibiting  this  portrait  outside 
the  town  hall,  surmounted  by  the  royal  standard  of 
Aragon  and  surrounded  by  the  portraits  of  eminent 
Majorcans. 


The  town  contains  innumerable  other  features  of 
interest,  but  before  leaving  this  portion  of  my  subject  I 
must  not  omit  a  mention  of  the  Lonja — the  Exchange — 
a  large  building  standing  near  the  harbour,  and  one  of  the 


22  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

first  objects  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  traveller  as  he 
nears  the  quay.  Its  keep-like  walls  and  turreted  parapets 
are  usually  the  subject  of  much  admiration,  but  I  must 
confess  that  to  us  the  great  building  seemed  too  sym- 
metrically square  and  too  conspicuously  new  to  awaken 
in  us  any  enthusiasm  for  its  exterior. 

Severely  rectangular  it  undoubtedly  is — but  its  appear- 
ance of  newness  is  misleading,  for  it  dates  from  the 
fifteenth  century,  when  it  was  the  custom  for  Spanish 
towns  to  vie  with  one  another  in  the  splendour  of  their 
Exchanges  ;  its  claim,  therefore,  to  be  one  of  the  finest 
Lonjas  in  Spain  is  a  legitimate  source  of  pride. 

It  is  said  to  have  been  begun  in  1409,  when  the 
merchants  of  Palma,  having  rendered  the  King  of  Aragon 
great  aid  in  the  conquest  of  Sardinia,  received  permission 
to  levy  a  tax  on  all  the  outgoing  and  incoming  wares  of 
foreigners  and  pirate  persons  ;  and  so  large  was  the  sum 
accruing  from  this  protective  toll  that  after  applying  part 
of  it  to  the  defence  of  their  commerce  at  sea  they  devoted 
the  remainder  to  building  this  splendid  Exchange — a 
testimony  to  future  generations  of  the  extent  and  pros- 
perity of  Palma's  trade  in  the  Middle  Ages. 

The  interior  is  extremely  striking,  containing  nine 
fluted  and  twisted  columns  of  great  height,  their  delicate 
groinings  spreading  in  palm-like  tracery  over  the  roof. 
The  building  has  long  been  disused,  and  the  light  that 
enters  as  the  shutters  are  flung  wide  of  the  great  windows 
looking  out  to  sea  discloses  nothing  but  some  old 
paintings  upon  the  walls  and  a  jumble  of  sculptured 


"  The    interior  of  the   Lonja — Palma's  ancient  Exchange — 
Contains  six  fluted  columns  of  great  height    ..." 

(page  22) 


"  The  great  church  of  S.  Francisco  has  a  doorway  in  late 
Renaissance  style    ..." 


(page  1 6) 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  23 

fragments    piled    upon    the    stone   seats   that   surround 
the  hall. 


It  will  perhaps  be  thought  strange  that  a  town  so 
comparatively  easy  of  access  as  Palma,  and  possessing 
so  much  to  attract  the  artist  and  the  antiquarian,  should 
be  so  little  known  to  the  world  at  large.  Yet  if  we  reflect 
how  small  a  distance  from  the  beaten  track  will  suffice  to 
deflect  ninety-nine  per  cent,  of  the  travelling  public,  it  is  no 
subject  for  wonder  that  Majorca  is  still  an  unknown  isle. 

A  certain  number  of  travellers  pass  through  Palma  on 
their  way  to  and  from  Algiers,  but  the  island  in  general 
is  as  yet  barely  aware  of  the  existence  of  the  tourist,  and 
he  is  quite  a  recent  institution  even  in  Palma  itself,  where 
the  opening  of  the  Grand  Hotel  three  years  ago  may  be 
said  to  have  inaugurated  a  new  era. 

Viewed  in  the  light  of  a  tourist  resort  the  old  town  is 
so  far  behind  the  times  that  she  brings  me  in  mind  of 
some  old-fashioned  chatelaine  who  with  dignity  offers  her 
guests  of  her  best,  without  in  any  way  altering  her  mode 
of  life  to  suit  the  standard  of  modern  requirements.  I 
can  recall  but  two  shopkeepers  in  Palma  who  knew  any 
language  but  Spanish,  and  at  the  Bank  a  special  clerk  is 
hastily  summoned  if  an  Englishman  chances  to  enter  the 
door.  An  English  church — the  earliest  sign  of  a  recur- 
ring visitors'  season — is  as  yet  only  represented  by  a 
mission-room  in  the  suburb  of  Santa  Catalina,  where  the 


24  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

Church  of  England  service  is  read  every  Sunday  by  a 
Wesleyan  minister. 

To  the  globe-trotter  it  will  come  as  a  surprise  to  find 
that  he  is  no  longer  under  the  world-wide  aegis  of  Thomas 
Cook,  and  that  that  name  by  which  he  has  hitherto  con- 
jured conveys  nothing  whatever  to  a  Majorcan  official. 
The  foreigner  who  visits  the  remoter  villages  of  the 
interior  is  still  looked  upon  as  something  of  a  curiosity ; 
he  will  have  to  drive  in  native  carriages,  live  on  native 
food,  and  bid  a  temporary  farewell  to  that  cosmopolitan 
standard  of  comfort  provided  for  all  who  travel  the  world's 
highways.  But  he  will  at  least  be  sure  of  one  thing — an 
unfailing  welcome  by  an  island  race  noted  for  its  charming 
manners. 

I  think  the  courtesy  of  the  natives  is  one  of  the  first 
things  to  strike  the  new-comer  in  Palma.  Many  a  time 
as  we  rambled  about  the  labyrinthine  streets  of  the  town 
did  a  Spanish  lady  come  out  of  her  way  to  ask  if  she  could 
be  of  any  use  in  directing  us ;  in  any  difficulty  you  may 
apply  without  hesitation  to  one  of  the  common  soldiers 
with  which  the  town  swarms,  and  with  all  the  instinct  of 
a  well-bred  man  he  will  immediately  do  his  utmost  to  be 
of  assistance,  nor  would  his  own  colonel  more  deeply  resent 
the  inference  of  inferiority  conveyed  by  the  offer  of  a  tip. 

The  bow  with  which  a  native  gentleman  asks  you  to 
enter  his  patio  and  photograph  what  you  will  is  only 
equalled  by  that  of  the  peasant  who  rises  from  table  at  a 
wayside  cottage  to  ask  the  passing  stranger  to  be  seated 
and  to  share  his  meal. 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  25 

In  a  country  where  manners  cease  to  form  a  distinction 
between  the  classes  social  intercourse  becomes  easy  and 
natural.  A  market-woman  will  enter  the  democratic 
tram,  dragging  with  her  an  unmanageable  and  overflow- 
ing basket,  and  the  gentleman  seated  next  her  will  without 
hesitation  accept  half  of  it  on  his  knees,  hand  it  after  her 
when  she  rises,  and  raise  his  hat  as  she  turns  to  thank 
him.  There  is  neither  thought  of  condescension  on  his 
part  nor  of  presumption  on  hers. 

School  attendance  is  not  compulsory  in  Majorca,  and 
many  of  the  peasants  with  whom  we  came  in  contact 
were  wholly  illiterate ;  yet  in  no  instance  had  the  pro- 
verbial twopence  extra  for  manners  been  spared  in  their 
education.  I  remember  how  when  talking  to  a  muleteer  we 
once  regretted  our  inability  to  speak  Spanish  more  fluently. 

"Ah,  but  the  Senora  speaks  well!"  he  said  quickly; 
"  think  how  difficult  I  should  find  it  if  it  was  I  who  had 
to  learn  her  language ! "  And  an  old  man  chimed  in, 
"  And  I,  Senora,  cannot  even  write !  " 

The  patois  spoken  by  the  peasants  is  a  dialect  com- 
posed of  the  old  Catalonian  tongue  alloyed  with  a  strong 
dash  of  Proven9al  French,  and  it  bears  very  little  re- 
semblance to  the  Spanish  of  Castile,  which  became  the 
language  of  the  educated  classes  after  the  union  of 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella.  The  latter  is,  however,  the 
tongue  taught  in  the  schools,  and  the  stranger  who  can 
speak  "  castellano  "  will  find  himself  understood  through- 
out the  Balearic  Islands,  barring  by  a  few  of  the  older 
and  more  illiterate  peasants. 


26  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

The  people  of  Palma  are  so  little  accustomed  to 
Spanish-speaking  foreigners  that  some  of  the  shopkeepers 
cannot  be  brought  to  mention  the  price  of  an  article  to 
their  customers,  but  persist  in  counting  out  the  required 
sum  into  their  own  hand  and  exhibiting  it  in  dumb  show 
— to  the  exasperation  of  a  certain  German  lady  who 
objected  to  being  "treated  like  a  child." 

The  shopping  expeditions  of  more  or  less  speechless 
tourists  must  necessarily  be  productive  of  many  a  laugh- 
able incident,  yet  I  never  saw  a  native  betray  the  slightest 
amusement  at  the  mistakes  committed ;  I  have  indeed 
had  my  hand  wrung  with  heartfelt  sympathy  by  a  good 
woman  to  whom  I  was  struggling  to  explain  myself. 

The  chief  shopping  centre  for  visitors  is  perhaps  the 
Plateria — a  narrow  street  occupied  by  working  silver- 
smiths— where  gold  and  silver  chains  are  measured  off 
and  sold  by  the  palm,  and  bits  of  old  enamel  and  peasant 
jewellery,  in  the  shape  of  antique  pendants  and  crosses, 
are  displayed  in  the  little  windows.  Amongst  the  most 
fascinating  objects  are  clusters  of  silver-gilt  buttons  set 
with  amethyst  and  garnet,  such  as  are  worn  by  the 
countrywomen  on  fete  days,  and  dozens  of  minute  silver 
charms  representing  baskets,  lanterns,  tubs,  and  other 
familiar  objects,  reduced  to  the  scale  of  a  mouse's  be- 
longings ;  while  hanging  everywhere,  of  all  sizes  and 
shapes,  are  the  silver  chain  purses  used  by  every 
Majorcan,  and  exported  by  the  thousand — to  be  sold  at 
double  the  price  by  fashionable  jewellers  in  London. 

Few  foreigners  leave  Palma  without  a  souvenir  in  the 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  27 

form  of  a  piece  of  old-fashioned  faience  or  majolica — the 
latter  an  imitation  of  the  Arab  lustre  ware — manufactured 
at  the  neighbouring  fabrique,  along  with  the  pretty  glazed 
tiles,  originally  introduced  from  Valencia,  with  which  the 
Majorcans  face  the  steps  of  their  staircases.  Other  local 
industries  include  lace-making  and  embroidery,  basket- 
weaving,  the  plaiting  of  complicated  string  seats  and 
backs  to  the  native  chairs,  tanning  and  shoemaking — in 
which  latter  branch  a  large  export  trade  is  carried  on 
with  South  America.  Shoes  are  cheap,  and  it  is  quite 
noticeable  how  neatly  shod  the  Majorcans  of  all  classes 
are. 

The  Majorcans  are  good  workers,  and  their  charges 
moderate.  The  scale  of  wages  is  low,  but  so  is  the  cost 
of  living,  and  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  a  more  contented 
and  prosperous-looking  race  than  these  islanders. 

Extreme  cleanliness  is  one  of  their  most  salient  cha- 
racteristics ;  they  are  noted  too  for  their  good  looks,  and 
it  is  indeed  rare  to  find  a  plain  face  among  them ;  and 
this,  combined  with  a  sensible,  cheerful  expression  and 
a  natural  talent  for  effective  colouring  in  dress,  renders 
them  a  remarkably  picturesque  and  attractive  people.  The 
country  girls  still  retain  the  muslin  coif,  or  rebosillo,  which 
once  formed  the  universal  female  headgear,  but  in  Palma 
this  has  given  way  to  a  handkerchief  worn  somewhat  far 
back  on  the  head  over  beautifully  dressed  hair. 

Scarlet  skirts  are  much  in  vogue  among  the  working 
classes,  but,  on  the  whole,  soft  half-tones  are  preferred 
to  the  primary  colours,  and  a  crowd  of  market-women 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

presents  a  gay  kaleidoscopic  scene  in  which  lemon-yellows, 
sage-greens,  salmon-pinks,  brown-reds,  and  turquoise 
blues  are  worn  side  by  side  with  charming  and  har- 
monious effect. 


In  the  early  morning  the  big  market-place  in  the  upper 
town  is  the  rendezvous  of  countless  housewives,  bargain- 
ing busily,  basket  on  arm,  for  the  day's  provisions. 
Under  the  long  arcades  bordering  the  cobbled  square  are 
installed  the  sellers  of  fruit  and  vegetables,  with  plaited 
ropes  of  garlic,  pans  of  fresh  olives,  strings  of  scarlet 
capsicums  and  bitter  tomatoes,  hampers  of  newly  picked 
oranges,  bunches  of  pale  Majorcan  dates  and  still  paler 
bananas,  and  masses  of  figs  turned  out  en  bloc  from  big 
rush  baskets  lined  with  leaves.  A  neighbouring  booth 
supplies  flat  fig  cakes  stuffed  with  almonds  and  aniseed, 
and  slices  of  dark  red  Game  de  Membrillo — an  excellent 
quince  preserve,  in  consistency  like  damson  cheese. 

From  the  fish  market,  where  the  morning's  catch  is 
displayed  upon  marble  slabs,  rises  a  very  babel  of  voices. 
Loud  and  shrill  is  the  clamour  of  the  fishwives  as  they 
detain  the  passer-by  with  a  scaly  hand,  and  seek  to 
repair  the  mischief  with  a  no  less  scaly  apron.  Crabs  and 
lobsters  lie  sprawling  upon  their  backs,  and  wave  stemmy 
legs  amongst  marine  creatures  never  seen  upon  a  hotel 
table — giant  shell-fish,  octopuses  lying  in  knotted  heaps, 
jelly-like  squids,  ugly  thorny  monsters  who  are  all  head, 


"  The  country  girls    still   retain   the    pretty   muslin    coif  or 
reboslllo    .    .    ." 

(page  27) 


"  These  dogs  can  boast  a  longer  pedigree  than  any  dog* 
under  the  sun,  for  they  are  descended  from  the  hunting  dog* 
of  the  old  Egyptians  ..." 

(page  29> 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  29 

and  gorgeous  little  fishes  coloured  like  macaws — scarlet, 
blue,  yellow,  or  glittering  with  metallic  greens  and 
reds. 

By  midday  all  will  have  been  sold,  and  the  market 
square  given  up  to  tall,  cadaverous-looking  dogs  that 
saunter  round  the  deserted  stalls  and  pick  up  what 
fragments  remain.  Gaunt,  listless,  and  apparently 
starving,  these  dogs  of  Palma  attract  the  attention  of 
every  new-comer ;  and  thanks  to  a  fellow-guest  at  the 
Grand  Hotel,  our  own  interest  in  them  was  specially 
aroused.  This  Swiss  scientist  had  come  to  Majorca  to 
study  the  domestic  animals  of  the  island,  and  the  result 
of  his  researches  had  proved  a  theory  he  had  long  held 
— that  somewhere  on  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean 
would  be  found  descendants  of  the  dogs  of  ancient 
Egypt. 

This  island  breed,  known  locally  as  Iviza  dogs — but 
dubbed  by  the  unappreciative  foreigner  "degenerate 
greyhounds"  and  "pariahs" — can  boast  a  longer  pedi- 
gree than  any  dogs  under  the  sun,  for  they  are  descended 
from  the  much -prized  hunting  dogs  of  the  old  Egyptians. 
Introduced  ages  ago  by  Greek  or  Phoenician  colonists, 
they  are  now  peculiar  to  the  Balearics,  where  they  are 
found  in  great  numbers. 

They  are  the  size  of  a  large  greyhound,  with  smooth 
coats  usually  yellow  and  white.  Nothing  will  fatten 
them :  the  pampered  favourite  of  a  great  house  is  as  lean 
as  his  scavenging  confrere  of  the  market-place,  and,  like 
him,  he  wears  a  look  of  melancholy  weariness  not  un- 


30  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

fitting  an  old,  old  race  that  has  existed  since  the  dawn 
of  history.  The  chief  characteristic  of  the  breed  is  their 
long,  pointed  ears,  which  when  pricked  stand  stiffly  erect, 
and  never  droop  as  do  those  of  the  somewhat  similar 
hounds  imported  from  Algeria  and  Morocco.  These  ears, 
with  the  long,  narrow  muzzle,  give  the  dogs  a  striking 
resemblance  to  the  jackal-headed  god  Anubis  of  Egyptian 
sculpture. 

They  are  mild,  timid  creatures,  quite  useless  as  watch- 
dogs, but  popular  as  pets,  and  —  like  their  original 
ancestors  —  much  valued  for  purposes  of  the  chase. 
Landowners  keep  them  for  coursing  hares  and  rabbits, 
of  which  they  catch  extraordinary  quantities ;  and  so 
devoted  are  the  dogs  to  this  sport  that  those  belonging 
to  peasants  on  large  estates  have  frequently  to  be 
hobbled,  and  are  seen  wearing  steel  bracelets  on  their 
fore  and  hind  leg,  connected  with  a  light  chain. 

Another  interesting  relic  of  a  bygone  race  is  seen  in 
the  survival  in  the  Balearics — so  our  Swiss  professor 
pointed  out — of  the  Greek  type  of  horse  familiar  to 
travellers  who  have  seen  the  statues  of  Balbus — pere  et 
fils — in  the  Naples  Museum.  These  animals  are  not 
very  common,  but  here  and  there  one  comes  across  a 
horse  differing  utterly  from  the  prevailing  Andalusian 
type.  Round  and  compact,  often  black  in  colour,  and 
with  stiff  mane  and  tail,  these  horses  have  a  remarkably 
arched  crest  and  a  slightly  convex  outline  of  nose — the 
profile  of  head  and  neck  being  represented  rather  by  the 
segment  of  a  circle  than  by  the  right  angle  formed  at  the 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  31 

apex  of  the  skull   by   the  lines  of  the  slender  Spanish 
horse. 


Mules  are  largely  used  in  the  Balearics,  Majorca  being 
especially  celebrated  for  its  breed.  They  are  big,  hand- 
some animals,  unusually  docile,  owing  to  the  gentle 
treatment  they  receive,  and  a  good  pair  of  carriage  mules 
is  more  sought  after  and  more  valuable  than  is  a  pair  of 
the  best  Continental  horses.  Nearly  all  the  carriages  of 
the  Palma  gentry  are  drawn  by  fast-trotting  mules,  and 
towards  evening  a  perfect  procession  of  galaretas  wends 
its  way  westward  along  the  sea  road,  each  with  its  match 
pair  of  strong,  sure-footed  beasts  that  make  nothing  of 
the  hills  to  be  encountered. 

Half  an  hour's  drive  along  this  road  brings  one  to  the 
wooded  knoll  beyond  Santa  Catalina,  on  which  stands 
the  old  castle  of  Bellver,  a  well-preserved  thirteenth- 
century  fortress,  whose  yellow  walls  rise  above  the 
surrounding  pines,  foursquare  and  stately.  In  olden 
days  it  was  used  as  a  residence  by  the  Kings  of  Majorca — 
in  later  times  it  served  as  a  state  prison — and  now  it 
stands  empty,  the  last  use  it  was  put  to  having  been  as 
an  astronomical  station  for  the  English  expedition  which 
went  out  to  Palma  in  1905  to  observe  the  solar  eclipse. 
From  the  grounds  round  the  castle  a  most  lovely  view  of 
the  town  is  obtained  through  the  pine-trees,  and  it  is 
amongst  these  woods  that  a  new  hotel  is  now  being 


32  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

built,  to  be  opened  this  year  under  the  name  of 
Hotel  Victoria.  It  will  be  under  the  same  management 
as  the  Grand  Hotel  in  Palma,  and  being  connected  with 
the  town  by  a  service  of  trams  it  will  no  doubt  prove 
extremely  popular  with  visitors  who  prefer  life  amid 
country  surroundings. 

A  mile  or  so  beyond  Bellver  we  come  to  the  little 
harbour  of  Porto  Pi,  the  mouth  of  the  creek  guarded  by 
an  old  Moorish  signal  tower,  now  converted  into  a  light- 
house, though  still  used  for  signalling  purposes. 

It  is  not  till  we  get  beyond  Porto  Pi  that  we  reach 
the  real  country  and  find  ourselves  amongst  olives  and 
asphodel;  and  here  the  Spanish  ladies  descend  from 
their  carriages  and  stroll  bareheaded  along  the  road — the 
only  form  of  exercise  in  which  they  indulge.  The 
Majorcan  roads  are  upon  the  whole  very  good,  though 
dusty  in  dry  weather;  and  they  are  kept  in  far  better 
repair  than  one  would  be  led  to  expect  from  watching  the 
leisurely  procedure  of  the  Peon  caminero,  who  brings 
stones  and  earth  upon  the  scene  in  small  basketfuls, 
moistens  them  with  a  watering-pot,  and  stamps  them  in 
patiently  with  a  small  rammer.  When,  however,  he  has 
occasion  to  spread  road  metal  in  greater  quantities  he 
takes  a  high  hand  with  the  public,  and  procuring  large 
boulders  he  arranges  them  on  alternate  sides  of  the  road, 
so  as  to  compel  passing  vehicles  to  drive  over  the  fresh 
stone ;  he  is  considerate  enough  to  remove  these 
stumbling-blocks  at  nightfall,  but  it  is  a  ludicrous  sight 
to  see  a  whole  string  of  smart  carriages  twisting  in  and 


SI: 


05 


"  At  the  chateau  of  Raxa  the  grounds  are  laid  out  in 
Italian  fashion,  with  orange  and  cypress*  terraces,  and 
splendid  flights  of  marble  steps." 

(page  35) 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  33 

out  of  these  obstacles  as  if  in  a  driving  competition,  in 
obedience  to  the  arbitrary  behest  of  the  road-maker. 

The  almost  universal  type  of  native  carriage  is  the 
galareta,  a  light-running  covered  vehicle,  in  appearance 
not  unlike  a  baker's  cart  on  four  wheels.  The  hinder 
part  is  entered  from  the  rear,  and  is  seated  like  a  wagon- 
ette ;  there  is  a  window  on  either  side,  and  another 
dividing  it  from  the  broad  hooded  seat  in  front  on  which 
the  driver  sits. 

To  the  foreigner  these  covered  carriages  appear  in- 
tensely uncomfortable ;  if  he  be  above  the  medium  height 
his  head  comes  in  irritating  contact  with  the  roof ;  he  can 
see  hardly  anything  of  the  landscape  from  the  windows, 
and  he  never  ceases  to  marvel  at  the  natives  who  can 
pack  themselves  in  incredible  numbers  into  one  of  these 
little-eases  and  emerge  unruffled  and  cheerful  at  the  end 
of  a  long  drive.  Yet  it  must  be  admitted  that  in  its  own 
country  the  galareta  possesses  several  distinct  advantages 
over  the  open  carriage ;  its  occupants  are  indifferent  to  sun 
and  rain,  and  can  protect  themselves  from  both  dust  and 
wind ;  on  the  hottest  summer's  day  a  draught  can  be 
created  by  lowering  the  glasses  and  drawing  the  Venetian 
shutters  with  which  each  window  is  fitted,  while  upon 
the  homeward  drive  the  chilly  night  air  can  be  as  easily 
excluded. 

Like  all  Southerners  the  Majorcans  dread  the  change  of 
temperature  that  takes  place  at  sundown,  and  towards 
evening  they  wrap  themselves  in  cloaks  and  mufflers, 
while  the  fearless  foreigner  sits  out  on  a  terrace  to 

4 


34  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

enjoy  the  sunset  and  is  extremely  indignant  at  waking 
next  morning  with  a  sore  throat. 

In  a  land  where  the  new-born  year  is  so  amazingly 
precocious  it  is  difficult  to  remember  that  in  England  he 
is  still  in  his  white  swaddling  clothes ;  by  the  end  of 
January  the  plain  around  Palma  is  decked  with  miles  of 
almond  orchards  in  full  bloom,  their  faint  scent  filling 
the  air  and  their  laden  branches  covering  the  country 
with  billowy  white  masses.  The  wind  has  forestalled 
the  date  of  the  Carnival,  and  his  last  night's  Battle  of 
Flowers  has  flung  deep  drifts  of  snowy  confetti  upon  the 
sprouting  wheat  beneath  the  trees.  But  there  are  still 
snow-caps  on  the  blue  hills  away  to  the  north,  and  a 
sudden  rattling  storm  of  hail  reminds  us  that  even  in 
Majorca  Spring  is  not  yet  fully  enthroned. 

By  February  a  vast  expanse  of  young  wheat  has 
clothed  the  land  in  a  garment  of  the  crudest  Pre- 
Eaphaelite  green — almost  startling  in  its  intensity  when 
seen  in  contrast  with  sea  or  sky. 

By  the  first  week  in  March  new  potatoes  and  green 
peas  are  in  the  market,  the  orchards  are  knee-deep  in 
beans,  and  the  whole  island  is  fragrant  with  bean  blossom. 
In  the  carob  groves — where  the  knotted  trunks  and 
twisted  limbs  of  the  old  trees  cast  strange  shadows 
on  the  swaying  corn  —  are  purple  anemones,  pink 
gladiolus,  and  a  blue  shimmer  of  honey-scented  grape- 
hyacinths. 

The  long  days  of  unbroken  sunshine  are  now  devoted 
to  excursions  into  the  surrounding  country,  and  visitors 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  35 

begin  to  leave  the  town  in  which  they  have  wintered  and 
to  roam  further  afield. 

A  favourite  drive  is  to  the  neighbouring  Chateau  of 
Eaxa,  a  country  seat  belonging  to  the  Count  of  Montenegro, 
where  the  grounds  are  laid  out  in  Italian  fashion  with 
orange  and  cypress  terraces,  stone  vases  and  statues,  and 
splendid  flights  of  marble  steps.  Roses,  violets,  freesias. 
and  heliotrope  were  in  full  bloom  in  the  gardens  on 
March  3rd,  and  the  women  engaged  on  the  orange 
harvest  handed  down  to  us  branches  heavy  with  fragrant 
golden  fruit.  Oranges  are  nothing  accounted  of  in 
Majorca,  and  lemons  are  looked  upon  as  so  far  below 
all  price  that  they  are  given  one  for  the  asking,  any  idea 
of  payment  being  vigorously  scouted. 

The  road  to  Eaxa  runs  for  many  miles  through  a  red 
plain  given  up  to  olive  culture ;  whether  it  is  the  soil 
of  Majorca  that  is  responsible  for  the  extraordinary 
grotesqueness  of  the  olive-trees  I  cannot  say,  but  they 
resemble  nothing  I  have  ever  seen  in  other  lands. 
Stretching  away  in  quaint  perspective  on  either  hand 
are  distorted  grey  forms  suggestive  of  an  enchanted 
forest ;  many  of  the  old  trees  stand  on  a  kind  of  tripod 
formed  by  the  splitting  and  shrinking  of  their  own  trunk ; 
here  a  hoary  veteran  of  many  centuries  has  wound  him- 
self into  an  excellent  imitation  of  a  corkscrew ;  a  group 
of  twisted  crones  appears  to  gossip  together  with  uplifted 
hands,  while  two  sprawling  wrestlers  are  locked  as  in  a 
death-struggle  in  each  other's  arms.  Here  squats  a 
gnarled  mass  like  nothing  so  much  as  a  gigantic  toad  ; 


36  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

there  a  boa-constrictor  twines  itself  in  folds  about  its 
prey,  and  an  antediluvian  monster  stoops  to  examine  with 
interest  the  strange  human  insect  that  has  adventured 
itself  within  reach. 

So  endless  are  the  variations  of  form  assumed  by  these 
extraordinary  trees,  so  fascinating  is  each  fresh  discovery, 
that  one  wanders  on  and  on,  like  children  in  a  bewitched 
wood,  and  a  determined  effort  of  will  is  required  to  tear 
oneself  away  from  such  a  scene  and  return  to  the  carriage 
awaiting  one  on  the  prosaic  high-road. 


The  same  weird  olive  groves  will  be  found  on  the  way 
to  Alaro,  a  small  inland  town  lying  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountains,  near  which  are  the  ruins  of  the  castle- 
famous  in  Majorcan  history  —  which  one  morning  in 
March  we  set  out  by  rail  to  visit. 

Majorcan  trains  are  not  fashionable  in  their  hours, 
and  it  was  little  after  daybreak  that  we  steamed  out  of 
the  Palma  station  and  glided  away  through  richly 
cultivated  fields  of  beans  and  wheat,  where  pleasant 
homesteads  stood  embowered  in  almond  orchards  and 
fat  yellow  lemons  bobbed  over  the  garden  walls.  As  the 
line  approaches  the  mountains  the  country  becomes 
wilder  and  more  open ;  vast  undulating  expanses  of 
stony  red  ground  are  being  slowly  ploughed  by  mule 
teams,  and  miles  upon  miles  of  fig-trees  cast  a  white 
shimmer  over  the  plain — their  leafless  branches  so  pale 


".  .  .  an  antediluvian  monster  stoops  to  examine  the 
strange  human  insect  that  has  adventured  itself  within 
reach." 

(page  36) 


"  One  enters  the  precincts  of  the  old  fortress  of  Alaro 
through  a  Moorish  gate-tower  with  a  curious  double  arch- 
way ..." 

(page  38) 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  37 

as  in  the  distance  to  resemble  blossoming  orchards.  The 
dark  glistening  green  of  carob  groves  contrasts  vividly 
with  the  feathery  grey  of  the  olive,  and  as  a  background 
to  the  scene  a  dark  belt  of  pine-trees  crowns  the  red  slope 
and  stands  out  in  brilliant  relief  against  the  indigo  blue 
ranges  of  the  Sierra. 

Within  an  hour  we  descend  at  Consell  and  change  to 
the  branch  line  forming  the  connection  with  Alaro ;  a 
small  tram  was  awaiting  us  outside  the  station,  and  this 
proved  to  be  the  branch  line.  No  road  was  in  sight,  but 
the  tram  lines  vanished  into  an  endless  perspective  of 
beanfields,  and  through  these  we  were  slowly  drawn 
by  two  horses  harnessed  tandem  fashion.  Our  only 
fellow-travellers  in  the  tiny  front  compartment — reserved 
for  the  rich  who  could  afford  to  pay  threepence — were  a 
couple  of  buxom  market-women,  most  deeply  interested 
in  our  appearance. 

Quaint  things  happen  so  easily  in  Majorca  that  we 
were  not  much  surprised  on  reaching  Alaro  when  the 
tram  conductor  got  down,  shouldered  our  camera  and  the 
heavy  luncheon  basket,  and  without  a  word  marched 
away  towards  the  village  inn  as  though  it  were  his 
business  in  life  to  conduct  strange  ladies  there.  Setting 
rocking  chairs  for  us  among  the  wine  barrels,  he  lit  a 
cigar  and  proceeded  to  assist  in  the  saddling  of  the  two 
donkeys  that  had  been  ordered  overnight  for  our  ascent 
to  the  castle  of  Alaro.  One  was  a  riding  donkey  for  my 
companion,  the  other  a  pack  animal  to  carry  our  impedi- 
menta, its  pack  saddle  being  furnished  with  panniers  and 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

fitted  with  the  native  breeching  strap — a  wooden  con- 
trivance shaped  like  a  Cupid's  bow,  which  fits  across  the 
donkey's  hind  legs  and  rubs  off  all  the  hair. 

Away  we  started  in  brilliant  sunshine  with  an  old  man 
and  a  boy  in  attendance,  and  turning  into  a  narrow  track 
between  stone  walls  we  followed  a  babbling  torrent  through 
carob  and  orange  gardens  and  began  to  wind  up  the  hill- 
side by  a  steep  zigzag  path.  Innumerable  sheep-bells 
tinkled  among  the  olive  yards,  and  the  voice  of  a  herds- 
man rang  out  in  a  Gregorian  chant  from  far  up  the 
heights  where  he  tended  his  goats  among  holm  oak  and 
pine.  Sheer  above  us  towered  the  perpendicular  red 
scarp  of  the  cliff  on  which  the  castle  stands,  a  small 
white  speck  upon  its  edge  the  Hospederia  of  the  summit. 

A  couple  of  hours'  stiff  climb  brings  one  to  the  back  of 
the  cliff,  and  scaling  a  rough  rock  staircase  one  enters 
the  precincts  of  the  old  fortress  through  a  Moorish  gate 
tower  with  a  curious  double  archway — the  outer  arch 
being  round-headed  and  the  inner  one  pointed. 

Like  a  great  wedge  of  cheese  with  straight  cut  sides 
does  the  cliff  of  Alaro  stand  out  into  the  plain ;  its  per- 
pendicular front  rises  sheer  in  a  terrific  precipice,  its  only 
approach  a  steep  ascent  commanded  by  a  fortified  tower. 
Small  need  to  be  told  that  by  assault  the  castle  was 
impregnable ;  but  it  was  subdued  by  siege  and  starvation 
in  1285,  when  Alfonso  the  Beneficent  of  Aragon  warred 
with  Jaime  II.  of  Majorca.  What  followed  the  surrender 
of  Alaro  is  known  to  every  Majorcan  ;  the  Conqueror, 
exasperated  by  the  vain  but  most  gallant  defence  of  the 


"  Many  of  the  old  olive  trees  stand  on  a  kind  of  tripod 
formed  by  the  splitting  and  shrinking  of  their  own 
trunk." 

(page  35) 


"•.    .    .    running  a  nightmare  race  with  each  foot  rooted  to 
the  ground." 

(page  35) 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  39 

castle,  had  its  two  governors  burnt  alive  at  the  stake  in 
the  presence  of  his  whole  army. 

So  perished  the  heroes  Cabrit  and  Bassa,  leaving  their 
names  to  be  handed  down  through  the  centuries  as  the 
names  of  men  who  died  loyal  to  their  king  at  a  time  when 
the  greater  part  of  the  island  had  gone  over  to  the  usurper. 

When  Majorca  again  came  into  the  hands  of  the  legiti- 
mate line  the  ashes  of  the  canonised  heroes  were  placed 
in  an  urn  and  deposited  beneath  an  altar  in  Palma 
Cathedral,  where  they  remain  to  this  day ;  and  every 
succeeding  generation  hears  from  childhood  up  the  stir- 
ring tale  of  how  the  two  patriots  fought  and  how  they  died. 

The  little  oratory  of  Our  Lady  of  Befuge  stands  upon 
the  summit  of  the  cliff,  and  no  doubt  originated  as  the 
chapel  of  the  fortress.  Subsequently  it  became  a 
renowned  sanctuary,  and  attached  to  it,  as  is  usual  in 
Majorca,  is  a  small  hospederia,  or  hostelry,  where  pilgrims 
and  visitors  can  obtain  a  night's  shelter.  The  view  from 
this  point  is  worth  coming  far  to  see ;  unrolled  like  a  map 
at  one's  feet,  far,  far  below,  is  the  great  southern  plain, 
from  the  Bay  of  Palma  on  the  west,  where  the  dark  mass 
of  the  cathedral  still  shows  just  visible  above  the  faint 
haze  enveloping  the  city,  to  the  glittering  Bay  of  Alcudia 
upon  the  far  east  coast.  All  the  cities  of  the  plain — Inca, 
Benisalem,  La  Puebla,  Muro,  and  Lluchmayor,  lie  out- 
spread before  us.  Behind  us,  range  upon  range,  are  the 
wooded  slopes  of  the  Sierra,  the  topmost  peaks  still 
crowned  with  snow;  threads  of  quicksilver  flash  down 
the  mountainsides,  and  valley,  plain,  and  hill  alike  are 


40  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

enveloped  in  a  grey  sea  of  olive-trees,  dwarfed  by  distance 
to  the  semblance  of  lavender  bushes. 

Some  idea  of  the  height  of  the  rock  on  which  we  stand 
is  obtained  by  dropping  a  stone  over  the  edge ;  peering 
over  the  abyss  as  we  lay  full  length  on  the  ground  we 
launched  a  small  boulder  into  space,  and,  watch  in  hand, 
timed  its  descent. 

"  One,  two,  three,"  the  seconds  ticked  away,  and  still 
the  stone  fell,  though  to  our  eyes  it  appeared  already  to 
have  reached  the  olive  groves;  "four,  five,  six,"  and  not 
till  now  did  a  dull  crash  come  up  from  below  to  tell  us 
that  the  stone  was  at  its  journey's  end.  We  arose 
cautiously  and  walked  back  along  the  very  centre  of  the 
cliff,  feeling  in  every  nerve  that  were  we  to  stumble 
nothing  could  save  us  from  covering  fully  thirty  feet  in 
our  fall  and  disappearing  over  the  edge  of  the  precipice. 

Eejoining  our  donkeys,  we  set  off  on  our  downward 
ride.  Midway  we  were  overtaken  by  a  party  of  boisterous 
young  men  who  tore  down  the  mountainside  laughing 
and  shouting,  gave  us  a  breathless  good-day  in  passing, 
and  vanished  with  giant  strides  down  a  precipitous  short- 
cut, apparently  intent  on  breaking  their  necks.  We 
looked  on  aghast,  but  our  guides  evidently  considered 
it  no  abnormal  way  of  descending  a  mountain. 

"  Going  downhill  no  one  is  old,"  says  the  island  proverb 
reassuringly ;  no  doubt  the  subsequent  stiffness  of  our 
own  knees  was  the  result  of  not  having  gone  down 
sufficiently  fast. 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  41 

The  Palma  carnival  differs  so  greatly  from  that  function 
as  celebrated  on  the  Eiviera  as  to  be  worthy  of  mention. 
There  the  tourist  element  and  its  accompanying  ostenta- 
tion of  wealth  are  the  most  conspicuous  features  of  the 
performance.  Here,  in  Palma,  all  this  is  wholly  lacking, 
and  the  carnival  has  retained  its  native  character  to  a 
truly  refreshing  degree.  It  is  essentially  a  people's 
festival,  with  hardly  a  foreigner  present. 

From  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  till  late  at  night 
the  whole  town  is  en  fete ;  all  the  shops  are  shut,  and  the 
shop  people  sit  in  merry  groups  before  their  doors ;  the 
balconies  overlooking  the  Borne  are  crowded,  and  the  wide 
Borne  itself  is  a  seething  throng  of  people  on  foot  saunter- 
ing up  and  down,  and  chaffing  one  another  in  high  good- 
humour. 

The  troops — of  which  five  or  six  thousand  are  quartered 
at  Palma — send  a  large  contingent  to  the  crowd  of 
holiday-makers;  infantrymen  in  long,  blue  coats, 
crimson  trousers,  and  bright  green  gloves,  mingle  with 
pretty  girls  in  kerchief  and  rebosillo,  whose  hair  is 
powdered  thick  with  coloured  confetti.  Here  is  an  old 
peasant,  come  in  from  the  country,  wearing  under  his  hat 
a  handkerchief  wound  round  his  head  in  the  style  of  his 
Catalonian  ancestors ;  his  wife  has  donned  her  gayest 
shawl,  and  has  brought  the  baby,  who  chuckles  with 
delight  at  the  festive  scene  and  wears  a  funny  little 
straw  hat  shaped  like  a  Saracen  turban  trimmed  with 
scarlet  pompoms. 

Tiny  maidens  of  four  and  five  are  costumed  as  grand 


42  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

ladies,  and  walk  about,  quaintly  dignified,  with  proudly 
trailing  train  and  flaunting  fan,  in  rich  brocade  skirts  and 
velvet  bodices,  with  long,  white  gloves,  and  hair  elabo- 
rately dressed  with  flowers  and  high  tortoise-shell  combs. 
A  party  of  Arabs,  draped  in  white  sheets  and  armed  with 
spears,  lead  about  an  unfortunate  comrade  disguised  as 
a  dancing  bear,  who  is  vigorously  kept  up  to  his  part 
throughout  the  day  ;  and  small  boys,  dressed  as  Pierrots, 
or  rejoicing  simply  in  the  disguise  afforded  by  a  pasteboard 
nose  and  a  high  falsetto  voice,  caper  unrestrained  through 
the  crowd. 

Towards  evening  a  couple  of  hundred  carriages  turn 
out  into  the  streets ;  galaretas,  landaus,  dogcarts,  and 
wagons  form  into  line  and  follow  each  other  in  slow 
procession  round  and  round  the  Borne.  The  smart 
barouche  and  pair  of  the  Captain-General  is  preceded  by 
a  humble  donkey-cart,  and  followed  by  a  heavy  country 
charrette  overflowing  with  clowns.  Every  one  is  dressed 
according  to  taste,  and  every  one  is  free  to  throw  things 
at  every  one  else.  The  imperturbably  correct  coachman 
of  a  stylish  turn-out  gets  hit  on  the  nose  by  an  egg-shell 
stuffed  with  confetti ;  the  gentleman  seated  beside  him — 
who  wears  a  mask  and  an  amazing  tow-wig — replies  with 
a  well-directed  volley,  and  a  furious  fusillade  ensues,  the 
enemy  coming  up  to  the  very  windows  of  the  galaretas  to 
pour  in  a  deadly  fire  among  the  occupants. 

Mounted  officers,  armed  with  paper  rockets,  do  battle 
with  the  people  in  the  balconies,  who,  in  return,  hail 
down  missiles  and  torrents  of  confetti  upon  their 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  43 

assailants.  Eggshells  fly  in  showers  from  carriage  to 
carriage,  smashing  upon  any  head  they  meet  with.  On 
the  wide  Place  Weyler  the  confetti  lie  so  thick  that  the 
square  resembles  some  cathedral  floor — tinted  by  stained 
glass  windows,  and  the  carriages  and  horses  are  so  tangled 
up  in  coloured  streamers  that  they  appear  to  have  broken 
through  a  great  rainbow  spider's  web  and  carried  it  bodily 
away  with  them. 

By  eight  o'clock  the  Carnival  is  a  thing  of  the  past,  and 
the  gay,  good-humoured  crowd  is  in  full  retreat,  thoroughly 
tired  out. 

And  at  midnight  the  stars  look  down  upon  a  sleeping 
city,  whose  stillness  is  only  broken  by  the  sonorous  chant 
of  the  watchmen  going  their  rounds  with  lantern  and  staff. 
The  familiar  cry — so  associated  with  Palma — again  rings 
out  beneath  our  windows  : — 

"  Alobado  sea  el  Senor  f    Las  doce — y  sereno!" 
(Praised  be  the  Lord  !     Midnight,  and  a  clear  sky  ! ) 


PART  II 


A  LTHOUGH  it  falls  to  the  lot  of  few  of  us  to 
-^\.  remain  as  sublimely  unconscious  of  geography  as 
was  Charles  Lamb — who  asserts  that  though  he  held  a 
correspondence  with  a  very  dear  friend  in  New  South 
Wales  he  was  unable  to  form  the  remotest  conjecture  as 
to  the  position  of  that  Terra  Incognita — yet  I  think  I  may 
safely  assume  that  not  many  of  my  readers  are  familiar 
with  the  geography  of  Majorca,  and  a  glance  at  the 
sketch-map  given  in  this  volume  may  be  of  service  in 
acquainting  them  with  the  principal  places  of  interest  in 
the  island. 

The  fact  which  perhaps  chiefly  strikes  one  is  the 
miniature  scale  of  distances.  Just  as  the  mouse  occupies 
the  same  space  on  the  page  of  a  book  on  natural  history 
as  does  the  elephant,  so  does  Majorca  appear  in  its  own 
particular  map  to  be  as  large  as  Ceylon  ;  and  it  gives  one 
repeated  shocks  of  surprise  to  find  that  what  looks  like 
a  day's  journey  is  a  matter  of  two  hours  by  rail,  or  a 
morning's  carriage  drive.  There  are  half  a  dozen  excur- 


44 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  45 

sions  which  visitors  to  the  island  rarely  fail  to  make ;  one 
is  to  Seller,  only  a  day's  expedition  by  carriage  from  Palma 
— though,  as  it  possesses  a  comfortable  little  hotel  and  is 
in  the  midst  of  beautiful  scenery,  it  is  a  favourite  place 
for  a  lengthened  stay.  The  old  towns  of  Pollensa  and 
Alciidia  upon  the  east  coast  attract  a  certain  number  of 
foreigners  every  season ;  and  the  fame  of  Arta's  stalactite 
caves  draws  thither  a  large  number  of  sightseers,  being 
easy  of  reach  from  the  railhead  at  Manacor. 

But  with  these  exceptions  the  interior  of  Majorca 
enjoys  an  almost  perpetual  immunity  from  tourists,  most 
of  whom  are  far  from  enterprising. 

It  was  to  Arta  that  we  ourselves  were  bound  when  we 
quitted  Palma  on  March  12th,  but  having  plenty  of  time 
before  us,  and  being  fond  of  driving  tours,  open  air,  and 
scenery,  we  decided  to  do  the  whole  journey  by  road,  and 
to  spend  as  many  nights  en  route  as  we  found  desirable. 
Our  carriage  was  one  of  the  hotel  victorias,  drawn  by  an 
excellent  pair  of  little  grey  horses ;  our  luggage  was  of 
the  most  modest  description,  consisting  of  two  of  those 
feather-weight  valises,  made  of  brown  cardboard,  that 
can  be  bought  for  a  few  shillings  in  most  Continental 
towns,  and  that  belie  their  frail  appearance  by  resisting 
ill-usage  to  an  almost  incredible  degree.  Our  driver  was 
a  friendly  and  reliable  native,  who  in  all  the  years  he  had 
driven  hotel  carriages  had  never  been  asked  to  conduct 
anybody  across  the  island.  It  was  indeed  an  unheard-of 
thing  to  do.  Was  not  the  railway  there  to  take  people 
to  Arta  ?  and  was  it  not  well  known  that  the  southern 


46  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

districts  of  the  island  contained  nothing  that  could  be  of 
any  possible  interest  to  any  one  ?  However,  it  was  no 
affair  of  his  if  English  ladies  were  eccentric ;  his  not  to 
question  why.  Their  motives  might  be  inscrutable,  but 
he  was  there  to  carry  out  their  wishes,  whether  wise  or 
foolish. 

No  June  morning  could  have  been  more  glorious  than 
the  one  on  which  we  left  the  Grand  Hotel,  and,  rattling 
over  the  cobbles  down  to  the  harbour,  struck  out  south- 
wards towards  Lluchmayor.  For  a  couple  of  hours  we 
crossed  a  great  plain,  carefully  tilled  and  tended.  In  the 
orange  gardens  the  golden  crop  was  being  gathered  by 
peasants  mounted  on  easel-shaped  ladders.  Stretches  of 
corn  and  beans  alternated  with  extensive  fig  orchards, 
which  in  July  supply  a  harvest  so  bounteous  that  even 
the  pigs  fare  sumptuously  upon  the  fruit.  Thick  as 
faggots  of  dead  wood  were  the  leafless  branches  of  the  old 
trees — their  elbows  stuck  out  at  an  aggressive  angle  as 
though  resenting  the  proximity  of  their  somewhat 
heathenish-looking  neighbour,  the  prickly  pear,  which 
in  Majorca  is  termed  the  "  Moorish  fig,"  as  opposed  to 
the  "  Christian  fig  "  of  cultivation. 

Standing  up  above  the  level  of  the  orchards,  and 
extending  over  the  plain  in  numbers  that  suggest  an 
immense  pyrotechnic  display  in  preparation,  are  countless 
wind  wheels,  twenty  or  thirty  feet  in  diameter,  furnished 
with  a  tail  to  keep  their  heads  to  the  wind,  and  with  sets 
of  wooden  slats  that  furl  and  unfurl  like  a  fan,  according 
to  the  strength  of  the  breeze.  Kaised  upon  stone  plat- 


"...     countless     windwheels,     twenty    feet    or    more    in 
diameter,  engaged  in  raising  water  from  wells    ..." 

(page  46) 


~    V 

"£'  ^ 

'N 


"S  -2 


;§ 

s  « 


-*  v 
5| 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  47 

forms  and  spinning  [round  rapidly,  these  wheels  are 
engaged  in  raising  water  from  wells  and  pumping  it  into 
the  great  reservoirs  that  in  summer  supply  the  irrigation 
aqueducts  intersecting  the  fields. 

At  noon  we  reached  Lluchmay6r,  and  after  lunching  at 
the  inn  we  visited  the  great  high-backed  church  that 
prides  itself  on  being  the  largest  in  the  island  outside 
Palma.  It  was  deserted  save  for  the  presence  of  three 
old  charwomen,  who  alternately  chatted  and  laughed  or 
piously  mumbled  Ave  Marias  and  Pater  nosters  as  they 
plied  their  flappers  about  the  pulpit  and  the  quaint  old 
pews,  resembling  settees,  with  curved  backs  and  deep 
seats  inlaid  with  scenes  in  coloured  woods.  A  wax  figure 
of  Santa  Candida  in  a  glass  case,  and  some  marvellous 
embroideries  with  inch-deep  scrolls  of  gold  thread  set 
with  precious  stones,  are  amongst  the  most  treasured 
possessions  of  this  church. 

On  again,  through  Campos,  whence  we  look  back  to 
catch  a  last  glimpse  of  the  Palma  Cathedral — far  away 
across  the  plain ;  and  the  evening  shadows  are  lengthen- 
ing fast  as  we  drive  into  Santagn^,  where  we  are  to  spend 
the  night. 

Santagny  is  the  southernmost  town  in  Majorca,  and  as 
such  suffered  sorely  in  bygone  time  from  the  Algerian 
and  Moroccan  pirates  who  infested  the  neighbouring  islet 
of  Cabrera.  In  the  sixteenth  century  the  town  was 
encircled  with  walls,  to  prevent  the  repetition  of  a  raid 
that  devastated  the  whole  countryside  and  forced  the 
inhabitants  to  fly  for  safety  to  the  interior  of  the  island. 


48  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

But  centuries  of  safety  have  razed  the  fortifications  more 
surely  than  any  piratical  attack,  and  one  massive  gate- 
way— standing  in  the  market-place — alone  remains  to 
testify  to  the  dangers  run  by  the  townspeople  in  olden 
days. 

The  fonda,  or  inn,  at  Santagn^  proved  to  be  one  of 
those  truly  primitive  establishments  that  cause  one  to 
ponder  the  eternal  question  as  to  which  comes  first  —the 
tourist  or  the  inn.  The  problem  regarding  the  hen  and 
the  egg  is  itself  not  more  elusive  than  the  vicious  circle 
in  which  one  becomes  involved  when  dwelling  on  this 
subject.  It  is  highly  improbable  that  the  accommodation 
at  Santagny  will  undergo  any  improvement  until  visitors 
have  shown  some  sign  of  wishing  to  come  to  the  town ; 
it  is  equally  improbable  that  visitors  will  show  any  signs 
of  wishing  to  come  to  Santagny  until  the  accommodation 
has  been  improved. 

I  must  admit  that  the  supper  passed  off  in  comparative 
style.  We  sat  in  a  small,  whitewashed  room  downstairs 
— our  driver  and  a  soldier  also  supping  there  at  another 
table — and  in  place  of  the  bell  of  conventionality  we 
clapped  our  hands  between  the  courses,  which  consisted 
of  an  excellent  omelette,  a  dish  of  meat  and  rice,  and 
oranges  sliced  with  sugar.  Our  hostess's  attentions  were 
somewhat  spasmodic  owing  to  the  periodical  raids  she 
made  on  certain  small  boys  whose  noses  were  flattened 
on  the  window-pane,  and  at  whom  she  dashed  out  very 
suddenly — belabouring  such  as  came  under  her  hand  with 
a  large  market  basket.  In  the  outer  room  a  guitar  was 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  49 

being  strummed,  and  the  voices  of  the  men  sitting  drinking 
there  broke  out  now  and  then  in  a  resonant  chorus.  All 
this  was  very  nice  and  native  ;  but  when  we  went  upstairs 
to  our  bedrooms  it  was  still  very  native — only  not  so  nice. 

Three  small  and  stuffy  cubicles  opened  off  the  landing 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs  ;  the  only  one  that  obtained  any 
light  or  air  was  the  end  one,  which  had  a  small  window 
in  the  outer  wall  of  the  house,  but — as  if  to  compensate 
for  this  advantage — it  lacked  a  door,  the  privacy  of  its 
occupant  being  dependant  upon  a  flimsy  curtain  that 
fluttered  airily  to  and  fro  in  the  doorway.  Each  cubicle 
contained  a  bed,  a  chair,  and  a  straw  mat  on  the  floor ; 
and  outside,  on  the  landing,  stood  one  small  washstand, 
with  a  set  of  toilet  appliances  destined  to  be  shared  by  all 
the  occupants  of  the  bedrooms.  That  the  centre  room 
was  already  engaged  was  evident  from  an  unmistakably 
masculine  snore  that  proceeded  from  it.  Horses  munched 
loudly  in  a  stall  below,  and  the  petulant  voices  of  dream- 
ing pigs  rose  to  the  skies  from  an  adjoining  farmyard. 
Even  our  driver — who  never  considered  his  duties  at  an 
end  until  he  had  personally  inspected  our  sleeping  quarters 
for  the  night — expressed  disapproval  at  the  prospect, 
although  his  sympathetic  shrugs  plainly  intimated  that 
as  we  had  made  our  beds  so  must  we  lie  upon  them. 
I  speak  figuratively,  for  as  a  matter  of  fact  our  beds  were 
not  made  at  all,  though  we  had  been  more  than  two  hours 
in  the  house. 

Amidst  such  unpromising  surroundings  did  we  even- 
tually retire  for  the  night,  waking  to  find  that  our 

5 


50  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

neighbour  of  the  middle  room  had  most  opportunely 
taken  himself  off  in  the  small  hours  of  the  morning, 
leaving  us  in  sole  possession  of  the  washstand,  so  that 
our  toilet  was  accomplished  in  comparative  safety,  and 
with  no  other  interruption  than  the  sudden  appearance 
of  our  hostess  on  her  way  upstairs  to  fetch  a  sausage  from 
the  attic.  It  is  but  fair  to  say  that  this  was  the  only 
fonda  we  met  with  in  the  whole  of  our  wanderings  that 
was  so  primitive  in  its  arrangements. 

On  going  down  to  breakfast  our  hostess  presents  us 
each  with  a  thick  tumbler  containing  a  species  of  strong, 
brown  broth,  very  nourishing,  I  should  suppose,  for  an 
invalid  ;  swelling  with  pride,  she  reveals  the  fact  that  the 
strange  beverage  we  are  drinking  is  tea — and  it  is  doubt- 
less on  the  strength  of  this  compliment  to  our  nationality 
that  she  presently  tenders  us  a  bill  for  fourteen  pesetas — 
ten  shillings  and  sixpence — a  sum  not  overwhelming  in 
itself,  but  absurdly  high  according  to  the  standard  of 
charges  current  in  Majorcan  inns. 

Five  pesetas — four  shillings — a  day  for  each  person  is 
the  recognised  charge  for  board  and  lodging  at  all  the 
best  fondas  in  Majorca.  At  a  little  hotel,  such  as  that 
of  Seller  or  Alciidia,  one's  pension  may  run  as  high  as  six 
or  even  seven  and  a  half  pesetas ;  but  these  are  the 
outside  prices ;  and  one's  driver's  food — for  which  one 
is  expected  to  pay  while  on  tour — should  never  exceed 
two  pesetas  a  day. 

At  small  native  inns  an  arrangement  as  to  terms  should 
always  be  made  on  arrival.  Particularly,  is.  this  the  case 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  51 

in  out-of-the-way  villages  where  strangers  are  rarely  seen, 
and  where  the  innkeeper  will  occasionally  endeavour  to 
make  a  profit  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  accommodation 
provided  for  his  guests.  This  sharp  dealing  is  so  little  in 
keeping  with  the  character  of  the  average  Majorcan  that 
I  can  only  explain  it  by  quoting  the  people's  own  saying, 
to  the  effect  that  there  is  not  room  for  honour  and  profit 
in  the  same  pocket.  I  think  that  the  opportunity  offered 
of  enriching  themselves  easily  at  the  expense  of  well-to-do 
foreigners  proves  too  great  a  temptation  for  certain 
fondistas  who  have  lost  the  finer  feelings  possessed  by 
their  compatriots  not  engaged  in  trade. 

Quitting  Santagn^  we  drove  on  to  Felanitx,  a  pretty 
little  town  surrounded  by  low  hills  whose  crests  are 
occupied  by  many  windmills  frantically  waving  their  arms 
on  the  sky  line.  Windmills  are  everywhere.  Some  stand 
singly  upon  barrow-like  mounds  crowned  with  cactus 
tangles,  others  are  massed  upon  ridges  in  the  gregarious 
manner  characteristic  of  Majorcan  corn  mills.  All  have 
either  six  or  eight  sails,  which  gives  them  a  very  full- 
bodied  appearance;  and  some  are  furnished  with  tail 
feathers,  and  resemble  large  dragon-flies  that  have  inter- 
rupted their  whirring  flight  to  settle  for  an  instant  with 
outspread  gauzy  wings  upon  a  little  tower  of  dazzling 
whiteness.  An  old  miller  leans  out  of  a  little  upper 
window  in  one  of  the  mills,  filling  it  up  so  completely 
that  we  wonder  if  he  will  ever  get  back  again. 

" Buena  vista!"  we  call  up  to  him  as  he  watches  us 
from  his  lofty  perch. 


52  With  a  Camera,  in  Majorca 

"  Ah,  yes  !  "  he  replies,  looking  far  out  over  the  sunny 
landscape,  "  from  here  one  sees  all  the  world !  " 

It  is  in  truth  a  very  lovely  world  upon  which  he  looks 
down  this  bright  March  morning.  The  almond  orchards 
are  streaming  down  the  hill  slopes  and  invading  the  town 
in  torrents  of  young  spring  verdure;  the  houses  are  screw- 
ing up  their  eyes  in  the  sunshine,  even  the  tiniest  windows 
being  half  built  up  with  slabs  of  freestone,  while  many 
are  closed  entirely.  Old  women  sit  at  their  doorways 
plaiting  and  spinning,  and  greet  us  cheerfully  as  we  pass, 
and  leaving  the  town  we  take  a  pretty  road  through  pine 
and  heath,  almond  and  olive,  arbutus  and  carob,  and  set 
out  to  visit  the  old  castle  of  Santuiri.  Within  half  an 
hour  of  our  destination  the  carriage  halts,  and  a  rocky 
goat-path  leads  us  to  the  summit  of  the  crag  upon  which 
the  ruins  stand. 

Santuiri  was  one  of  the  great  mediaeval  burgs  of  Majorca, 
and  is  in  far  better  preservation  than  either  of  its  fellows 
of  Alaro  or  Pollensa.  In  the  fifteenth  century  its  walls 
were  strengthened  against  an  expected  attack  of  the 
Moors,  and  much  of  these  defences  still  remains. 

Proud,  and  most  desolate,  is  this  old  sentinel  of  the 
southern  coast.  Buzzards  hang  in  mid-air  beneath  the 
battlements — brown  specks  against  the  dim  blue  plain 
below ;  sheep  graze  amongst  spurge  and  St.  John's  wort 
on  the  grassy  knolls  within  the  fortress.  The  old  gray 
walls  are  trimmed  with  golden  patches  of  coronilla  and 
crowned  with  a  chevaux-de-frise  of  bristling  aloe  spikes. 
A  narrow  path  cut  in  the  face  of  the  crag,  and  unpro- 


"  All  the  windmills  have  either  six  or  eight  sails,  and  some 
are  furnished  with  tail-feathers." 

(page  50 


•  •     •   •„•• 


<3    O 


IT 


•" 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  53 

tected  by  any  parapet,  leads  to  the  machicolated  gate 
tower ;  above  your  head  there  are  slits  for  boiling  oil,  and 
at  your  back  is  sudden  death  in  the  shape  of  a  precipice, 
with  nothing  to  break  your  fall  but  the  fixed  bayonets  of 
some  huge  aloes  rooted  in  the  crevices  of  the  cliff  below. 
Assuredly  it  was  well  to  be  on  good  terms  with  its  lord 
when  craving  admittance  to  the  Castle  of  Santuiri. 

A  twin  height  across  a  little  valley  is  occupied  by  the 
Oratorio  of  San  Salvador— the  shrine  of  a  wonder-working 
Madonna  whose  fame  dates  from  the  Middle  Ages,  and 
who  is  visited  annually  by  thousands  of  pilgrims  from  all 
parts  of  the  island. 

To  this  shrine  we  ascended  in  the  afternoon,  the  latter 
part  of  the  route  being  a  steep  hillside,  clothed  with 
prickly  pear  and  a  sweet-smelling  dwarf  gorse,  up  which 
we  slowly  toiled  on  foot,  the  zigzag  path  marked  out  with 
twelve  stations  of  the  Cross,  depicted  in  faience  tiles  upon 
freestone  pillars.  Attached  to  the  Oratorio  upon  the 
summit  is  a  large  hospedMa  containing  some  forty  bed- 
rooms, built  for  the  reception  of  pilgrims  ;  the  four  brown- 
frocked  friars  who  minister  to  the  wants  of  visitors  were 
busily  engaged  in  sawing  timber  in  the  entrance-hall 
amidst  a  litter  of  fresh  shavings,  and  one  of  them  inter- 
rupted his  work  to  take  us  into  the  adjoining  chapel.  In 
pitch  darkness  we  groped  our  way  to  a  niche  at  the  back 
of  the  high  altar,  and  were  shown  by  the  light  of  a  match 
a  little  old  stone  statue — the  Blessed  Virgin  of  San 
Salvad6r — only  second  in  power  to  Our  Lady  of  Lluch. 

A  special  room  is   set  aside  for  the  votive  offerings 


54  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

presented  to  her :  the  walls  are  thickly  hung  with 
uniforms,  children's  garments,  and  bridal  gowns ;  there 
are  toys  and  medals,  and  stacks  of  crutches;  there  are 
rows  of  photographs  of  the  Virgin's  proteges,  who 
attribute  their  escape  from  accident  and  illness  to  her 
shielding  power ;  there  are  crude  childish  representations 
of  fires,  shipwrecks,  thunderbolts,  runaway  horses,  and  all 
the  perils  that  humanity  is  heir  to.  Some  of  the  ex-votos 
date  from  the  attack  of  the  Moors  in  1737  ;  others  come 
from  far  countries — such  as  the  one  "promised  to  Our 
Lady  in  the  fire  of  Santiago." 

One  of  the  most  pathetic  offerings  that  I  saw  at  another 
Majorcan  shrine  was  a  thick  plait  of  long  black  hair — 
"  promised  to  Our  Lady  "  on  such  and  such  a  date,  doubt- 
less by  some  soul  in  sore  need.  The  belief  in  miraculous 
intervention  as  an  answer  to  personal  sacrifice  is  deeply 
ingrained  in  the  islanders,  and  is,  I  should  imagine,  a 
source  of  much  consolation  to  them. 

After  buying  a  few  rosaries  and  ribbons  bearing  the 
name  of  Our  Lady  of  San  Salvador  we  walked  to  the  end 
of  a  hill-spur  where  stone  seats  invite  the  wayfarer  to 
rest  before  beginning  the  steep  descent.  The  sun  was 
setting,  and  the  scene  before  us  recalled  some  Egyptian 
evening  in  its  strength  of  colouring ;  far  beneath  us  lay 
the  great  dim  plain  with  its  white  towns,  wrapped  in  the 
violet  mists  of  sunset  and  melting  away  into  the  trans- 
parent blues  and  purples  of  the  distant  sierra.  The  roofs 
and  walls  of  the  Oratorio  and  the  pine-trees  upon  the  hill- 
top stood  out  in  inky  relief  against  a  sky  stained  with 


"  The  old  grey  walls  of  Santuiri  are  trimmed  with  golden 
patches  of  coronilla  and  crowned  with  a  chevaux  de  frise  of 
bristling  aloe  spikes."" 

(page  52) 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  55 

orange  and  crimson,  fiery  lake  and  scarlet ;  the  clouds 
were  black,  glowing  coals  backed  with  gold — the  whole 
heavens  were  aflame  in  conflagration. 

Long  after  the  glory  had  faded  away  a  pure,  brilliant 
glow  illuminated  the  sky  and  lighted  us  on  our  homeward 
way,  and  we  returned  to  Felanitx  with  the  memory  of 
San  Salvador  for  ever  associated  in  our  minds  with  the 
most  beautiful  sunset  we  ever  saw  in  Majorca. 


On  March  15th  we  left  Felanitx  and  continued  our 
journey  across  the  great  southern  plain.  The  road  to 
Manacor  runs  along  a  low  ridge  and  commands  extensive 
views  on  either  hand  ;  asphodels  fringed  the  wayside,  and 
every  patch  of  waste  ground  displayed  the  Spanish  colours 
in  gay  yellow  daisies  and  a  tiny  scarlet  ranunculus,  the 
Adonis  vernalis.  The  weather  was  glorious  ;  a  shower 
during  the  night  had  laid  the  dust  and  cleared  the  air,  and 
blue  cloud-shadows  chased  merrily  across  the  landscape. 

"Bon  dia  tengan!"  comes  in  cheerful  greeting  from 
the  fields  where  groups  of  peasant  women,  in  big  straw 
hats,  ply  their  hoes  among  the  wheat.  When  they  found 
we  wished  to  take  a  photograph  of  them  their  amuse- 
ment was  unbounded,  and  their  merry  laughter  was 
quite  infectious. 

Unceasing  is  the  care  of  the  crops,  and  unremitting 
is  the  labour  bestowed  upon  the  land  before  it  assumes 
that  market-garden-like  neatness  that  is  the  ideal  of  the 


56  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

Majorcan  peasant.  Centuries  of  cultivation  have  con- 
verted much  of  the  land  into  rich,  productive  soil,  but 
a  glance  at  a  recently  reclaimed  field  shows  one  the 
difficulties  with  which  the  original  cultivator  has  to 
contend,  difficulties  that  would  surely  daunt  a  less  stout- 
hearted race.  Slabs  of  bed-rock  and  countless  myriads  of 
loose  stones  cover  the  surface  of  the  ground :  by  blasting 
and  patient  excavation  a  certain  proportion  of  these  are 
removed,  and  the  intervening  patches  of  earth  are  dug  by 
hand,  the  first  harvest  being  represented  by  a  scanty  crop 
of  wheat  sprouting  in  the  interstices  of  the  rock  paving. 
The  second  or  third  year  it  will  perhaps  be  possible  to 
drive  a  narrow  sharp-pointed  ploughshare  between  the 
stones,  lifting  it  briskly  out  of  the  ground  when  the  shaft 
mule  is  brought  up  with  a  jerk  by  a  more  than  usually 
stubborn  boulder.  Each  year  hundreds  of  tons  of  loose 
stone  are  collected  and  disposed  of  in  one  way  or  another ; 
some  are  stacked  in  cairns  among  the  crops  and  go  by  the 
name  of  cldpers ;  others  are  carried  with  infinite  toil  to 
the  boundaries  of  the  field  and  built  into  a  dry  wall  a  yard 
or  more  thick — coped  with  the  masses  of  rock  that  work 
up  through  the  soil  almost  as  quickly  as  they  are  removed 
from  the  surface ;  others  again  are  thrown  into  great  stone 
reservoirs  built  for  the  purpose  and  filled  to  the  brim  with 
blocks  big  and  little.  Gradually  the  plague  of  stones 
begins  to  abate.  What  one  generation  has  begun,  a  future 
one  will  accomplish,  and  eventually  the  land  will  assume 
the  appearance  of  a  rich  alluvial  plain,  and  Dame  Nature 
will  put  on  as  benevolent  a  smile  as  though  she  had 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  57 

proposed  from  the  very  first  to  bountifully  reward  the 
industrious  peasant. 

But  always  there  will  be  miles  upon  miles  of  beauti- 
fully built  stone  walls  to  tell  a  different  tale.  Truly 
may  it  be  said  of  the  Majorcans,  as  of  their  Catalonian 
forefathers — that  from  stones  they  produce  bread. 

All  the  morning  we  drove,  and  by  noon  we  had  passed 
the  town  of  Manacor  and  were  descending  towards  the 
sea  through  a  silent,  sun-steeped  land  of  rock  and 
asphodel.  Asphodels  surrounded  us  for  miles,  their 
starry  sceptres  swaying  in  the  wind  and  shining  like 
silver  where  the  sunlight  struck  through  them.  It  is 
strange  that  no  southern  artist  has  painted  us  a  Madonna 
of  the  Asphodels. 

Down  by  the  seashore  stands  a  small  group  of  free- 
stone houses  called  the  Port  of  Manac6r,  and  after 
lunching  at  the  fonda  we  set  off  on  foot  to  visit  the 
famous  stalactite  caves  close  by.  There  is  nothing  in 
the  surface  of  the  surrounding  country  to  suggest  the 
existence  of  vast  subterranean  caverns  ;  the  guide  simply 
leads  the  way  across  the  wide  moor  to  a  walled  enclosure, 
where,  half  concealed  by  boulders  and  scrub,  a  flight  of 
rock  steps  leads  down  to  the  Cuevas  del  Drach — the 
Dragon  Caves  of  Manacor. 

Armed  with  acetylene  lanterns  we  descend,  and  plunge 
into  a  perfect  labyrinth  of  halls  and  passages ;  some  of 
the  scenes  are  very  beautiful ;  there  are  ' '  cascades 
of  diamonds" — frozen  falls  that  sparkle  like  hoar  frost 
in  the  sun — and  wonderful  statuesque  formations  under 


58  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

fretted  canopies  fringed  with  glittering  icicles ;  there 
are  myriads  of  stalactites  hanging  from  the  roof,  some 
snow-white  and  thorny,  others  like  pink  glass,  that 
ring  musically  when  struck  with  a  stone.  There  is  an 
immense  cavern  where  one  sits  down  to  rest ;  weird 
shadows  cast  by  the  lamps  dance  upon  the  walls,  and 
falling  drops  of  water  tinkle  loudly  in  the  silence. 
There  are  precipices  and  bottomless  pits — into  which 
the  guide  tosses  stones — and  atmospheric  lakes,  into 
which  one  is  liable  to  walk  unawares — the  surface  of 
the  water  being  invisible  to  the  sharpest  scrutiny.  There 
are  bright  blue  pools,  crystal  clear,  in  the  depths  of  which 
stalagmites  appear  like  white  sea-anemones  and  seem  to 
mirror  back  the  pendant  bosses  of  the  roof.  One  may 
walk  for  miles  and  not  have  seen  all,  but  the  heat  in 
these  caves  is  trying  to  many  people,  and  one  is  not 
sorry  to  come  out  into  the  cold  upper  air  after  spending 
an  hour  or  two  in  a  temperature  of  nearly  90  degrees 
Fahrenheit. 

Many  years  ago  some  Spaniards  were  lost  for  days  in 
the  Drach  caves,  and  the  spot  is  still  shown  where 
in  their  despair  they  scratched  upon  the  walls :  No  hay 
esperanza — There  is  no  hope ! 

In  the  caves  of  Arta,  people  are  said  to  have  entered 
who  have  never  been  seen  again,  alive  or  dead. 

The  little  inn  at  the  Puerto  de  M ana  cor  is  a  typical 
Majorcan  fonda.  Our  rooms  were  floored  with  cheerful 
red  tiles,  and  the  walls  were  almost  awe-inspiring  in  their 
spotlessness ;  it  is  a  popular  saying  that  on  Saturdays  the 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  59 

Majorcans  whitewash  everything  within  reach.  From 
our  windows — furnished  with  wooden  shutters  in  place 
of  glass — we  looked  down  upon  a  vine-covered  pergola 
and  a  little  bright  blue  bay  encircled  by  a  snow-white 
beach.  Our  beds  were  good,  and  the  bed-linen  excellent 
— the  lace-trimmed  pillow-cases  and  beautifully  em- 
broidered monograms  testifying  to  the  skill  with  which 
the  women  ply  their  needle.  Supper  was  served  on 
the  first-floor  landing,  and  consisted  of  fish,  omelette, 
chicken  and  rice,  and  dessert ;  and  at  nine  o'clock  our 
hostess  mounted  the  stairs  to  inform  us  that  there 
would  be  no  milk  for  our  morning  coffee  unless  some 
could  be  procured  from  Manacor  (an  hour  distant) — 
the  local  dairy  being  inconsiderate  enough  to  have  two 
fine  kids  at  the  moment. 

She  bade  us  a  friendly  good-night,  and  as  an  after- 
thought pointed  out  that  being  in  the  country  here, 
it  was  the  custom  to  empty  bedroom  basins  out  of  the 
window.  We  promised  to  avail  ourselves  of  the  per- 
mission, and  retiring,  were  gently  lulled  to  sleep  by  the 
rhythmic  breathing  of  the  tide  below. 


It  is  strange  to  hear  of  snow  and  frost  at  home  while 
we  are  living  in  a  long  succession  of  June  days.  Under 
a  cloudless  expanse  of  blue — unbroken  save  by  a  trans- 
parent white  moon  in  the  eastern  sky — did  we  leave  the 
Puerto  on  the  morning  of  March  16th.  Retracing  the 


60  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

road  to  Manacor,  we  drove  through  tracts  of  pine  wood 
and  rosemary,  and  at  midday  reached  Arta — an  oriental- 
looking  town  of  white  houses  and  palm-trees — the 
Y art  an  of  the  Moors,  in  whose  day  it  was  an  important 
colony.  Their  principal  mosque  was  converted  by  the 
Conqueror  into  the  great  church  that  stands  upon  the 
hillside  and  with  fortress-like  walls  and  wide-arched 
upper  gallery  dominates  the  town.  Crowning  the  same 
hill  is  the  wall-encircled  church  of  San  Salvador,  used 
in  olden  times  as  a  refuge  for  non-combatants  during 
Saracen  attacks,  and  in  more  recent  days  as  a  lazaretto 
in  time  of  pestilence — which  led  to  its  being  pulled 
down  and  rebuilt  about  a  hundred  years  ago. 

In  the  vicinity  of  Arta  are  to  be  found  certain  tumuli 
of  unknown  origin,  that  correspond  more  or  less  to 
those  monuments  of  a  pre-historic  race  which  exist  in 
most  of  the  islands  of  the  Mediterranean.  In  a  deserted 
olive-yard — where  the  poisonous  solanum  sodomacum 
trailed  its  miniature  yellow  and  green  melons  among 
the  stones  and  big,  pale  periwinkles  grew — we  came 
upon  the  Cldper&  de  Gegants,  or  Giants'  Cairns.  A 
ring  wall  of  large  stones  weighing  several  tons  apiece 
had  evidently  existed  at  one  time;  but  most  of  the 
blocks  had  fallen  in,  and  the  central  mound — whether 
watch  tower  or  burial  tumulus — was  a  mere  chaos  of 
stones  and  brambles.  To  any  one  who  has  seen  the 
far  finer  megalithic  monuments  of  Minorca,  no  Majorcan 
remains  will  appear  of  much  importance. 

From  Arta  it  is  a  pretty  drive  to  the  castle  of  Cap 


^*        o" 
8       vS 

«         <o 


•2   8 

s  « 


•^  • 

v  • 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  61 

de  Pera,  an  old  fortress  with  portcullised  gateway  and 
peaked  Moorish  battlements,  around  which  one  can 
walk  on  a  narrow  ledge  laid  on  stone  brackets.  Prickly 
pear  and  masses  of  crimson  and  white  stocks  run  riot 
within  the  walls  and  cluster  about  the  little  chapel  of 
the  summit.  Beyond  the  castle  the  road  winds  by  a 
steep  ascent  to  the  lighthouse  of  the  Cap  de  Pera — built 
upon  the  extreme  eastern  point  of  the  island,  whence 
a  splendid  view  is  obtained,  the  low  coastline  of  Minorca 
being  dimly  discernible  far  out  at  sea. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  following  morning  we  set  out  for 
the  stalactite  caves  of  Arta — said  to  be  the  most 
wonderful  ones  in  the  world,  with  the  exception  of 
certain  caverns  in  New  South  Wales.  For  an  hour 
and  a  half  we  descended  towards  the  coast  through 
a  plain  of  fig  orchards  and  palmetto  clumps — the  latter 
portion  of  the  route  being  a  mere  cart-track  of  surprising 
badness — and  finally  drew  up  under  a  grove  of  pic- 
turesque old  Pinus  maritima  near  the  seashore — the 
finest  trees  we  had  yet  seen  in  an  island  where  good 
timber  is  rare. 

Fifteen  minutes'  walk  along  a  cliff  path,  with  a 
turquoise  blue  sea  below,  and  the  scent  of  pines  and 
gorse  filling  the  warm  air,  and  we  come  to  the  entrance 
to  the  caves.  A  great  cleft  opens  in  the  face  of  the  cliff 
overhead — a  natural  ante-chamber  to  the  caves,  supported 
by  Herculean  pillars  of  live  rock,  and  to  this  we  ascend  by 
a  long  flight  of  massive  stone  steps,  as  though  to  the  portals 
of  some  grand  old  Egyptian  temple.  Following  our  guide 


62  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

we  pass  through  an  iron  grille  and  descend  through  cool 
depths  of  grey  rock  till  we  seem  to  have  reached  the  very 
heart  of  the  hills. 

So  strange  is  the  under  world  through  which  one  is  led 
for  the  next  two  hours  that  at  times  one  doubts  whether 
it  is  not  all  a  dream.  Now  we  wander  through  lofty 
halls  hung  from  roof  to  floor  with  stony  curtain  folds, 
where  tall  stalagmitic  palm-trees  stand  in  groups — their 
rugged  stems  hard  as  marble,  white  as  though  bleached 
by  long  confinement  in  these  sunless  caves.  Now  we 
seem  to  be  exploring  a  coral  world  in  the  depths  of  the 
sea,  and  half  expect  to  meet  startled  fishes  darting  hither 
and  thither  among  the  fantastically  sculptured  grots  and 
low-fretted  arches  through  which  we  creep.  Now  we 
enter  the  great  hall  of  columns,  and  wait  in  darkness 
upon  a  high  rock-platform,  while  our  invisible  guide 
busies  himself  below  with  Bengal  lights.  Suddenly  a 
vista  of  gigantic  columns  leaps  out  of  black  space, 
monstrous  shadows  retreat  into  a  perspective  of  infinite 
extent,  and — as  though  in  some  strange  operatic  scene — 
we  find  ourselves  standing  in  a  great  vaulted  crypt, 
Gothic  in  its  indescribable  richness  of  architectural  detail, 
Egyptian  in  its  gigantic  proportions  and  massive  grandeur. 
Still  larger  is  the  great  cavern  known  as  the  Cathedral, 
the  roof  of  which  attains  a  height  of  a  hundred  and  fifty 
feet ;  so  weird  and  grand  beyond  belief  is  the  effect  created 
by  this  vast  interior  when  lighted  up — so  wonderful  is  the 
mimicry  of  hangings  and  sculpture — so  regular  the  slender 
turrets  and  fretted  pinnacles  that  enrich  the  structure, 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  63 

that  it  is  difficult  to  realise  that  the  scene  before  one  is 
Nature's  own  handiwork. 

Wending  our  way  down  the  Devil's  Staircase  we  next 
descend  to  a  spot  below  sea-level  to  visit  the  "  lost  souls  " 
— a  company  of  black  and  burnt-up  looking  little  figures 
seated  beside  a  salt-water  pool  that  goes  by  the  name 
of  the  Styx.  Endless  is  the  imagery  suggested  by  the 
stalactite  formations ;  some  resemble  isolated  statues, 
others  intricate  groups  of  Hindu  gods.  There  is  an  organ 
with  musical  pipes,  there  are  strange  echoes  that  live  far 
away  among  the  rock  caverns  of  the  roof,  and  huge  lurk- 
ing shadows  that— startled  by  the  light  of  our  lanterns — 
glide  swiftly  out  of  their  recesses  and  disappear  into  the 
darkness  ahead.  But  always  we  return  to  the  aisles  of 
ghostly  columns  that  distinguish  these  caves  from  all 
others  I  have  ever  seen. 

Questioned  as  to  the  presumed  age  of  these  columns  our 
guide  throws  up  his  hands  in  despair,  and,  leading  us  to 
a  small  stalagmite  in  process  of  formation,  shows  us  a 
couple  of  copper  sous  embedded  in  its  glassy  surface ; 
it  is  twenty  years  since  they  were  placed  there,  and  in 
that  time  the  stalagmite  has  risen  to  the  rims  of  the  coins 
and  they  are  now  fixed  in  their  place  by  the  most  delicate 
silver  film.  Allowing  fifteen  sows  to  the  inch,  a  rough 
computation  sets  the  rate  of  growth  of  this  particular 
stalagmite  at  something  between  three  and  four  thousand 
years  to  the  foot — a  period  doubtless  considerably  exceeded 
in  the  case  of  the  larger  columns. 

The  gem  of  the  whole  collection  is  the  great  palm-tree 


64  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

that  stands  alone  in  one  of  the  outer  courts.  There  are 
others  that  equal  it  in  girth — its  stem  measures  little 
more  than  three  feet  in  diameter — but  its  splendid  shaft 
ascends  flawless,  joint  above  joint  of  white  coral-like 
stalagmite,  till  it  unites  with  the  roof  sixty  or  seventy 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  floor.  Since  the  world  was 
young  it  has  stood  in  these  Halls  of  Silence — a  silence 
of  aeons,  broken  only  by  dropping  water  and  occasional 
earthquake  shocks  that  have  flung  masses  of  stalactite 
to  the  ground.  These  horizontal  rings  in  its  stem  may 
have  been  deposited  in  the  days  of  palaeolithic  man ;  while 
that  joint  was  being  formed  Babylon  and  Nineveh  rose 
and  passed  away,  and  the  Pharaohs  in  long  procession 
filed  across  the  world's  stage  and  vanished. 

The  falling  drop  has  now  finished  its  work  and  has 
shifted  to  another  spot  where  it  has  begun  the  base  of 
a  second  column.  Some  day  the  capital  of  this  one  also 
will  be  completed.  .  .  . 

It  is  a  glimpse  into  Eternity  that  appals  one. 


On  March  18th  we  left  Arta.  A  hum  and  a  buzz  in 
the  street  proclaimed  it  Sunday  morning,  and  on  emerging 
from  our  inn  we  found  a  couple  of  hundred  people — 
including  two  Civil  Guards  and  all  the  elders  of  the  place 
— assembled  to  see  us  off.  This  interest  was  centred  less 
in  ourselves  than  in  our  victoria,  for  to  people  whose  only 
notion  of  a  carriage  is  the  Spanish  one  of  the  baker's-cart 


"  At  the  port  of  Andraitx  fishermen  in  red  Phrygian   caps 
\Lere   mending  their  nets     .     .     ." 

(page  6;> 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  65 

pattern,  the  sight  of  so  long,  low,  and  altogether  remark- 
able looking  a  vehicle  was  of  thrilling  interest.  It  was 
probably  the  first  ever  seen  in  this  part  of  the  island, 
and  had  it  been  a  motor-car  it  could  not  have  made 
a  greater  sensation.  Beasts  of  burden  bolted  at  so 
novel  an  apparition,  mules  in  carts  swerved  violently; 
children  would  drag  their  small  brothers  and  sisters 
half  a  mile  across  country  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  us, 
and  we  brought  whole  village  populations  running  to 
their  doors. 

Stepping  into  our  carriage  with  a  gracious  and  com- 
prehensive bow  to  the  throng  around,  we  were  whirled 
away  at  a  gallop  down  the  crowded  street,  and  quitting 
the  town  we  struck  out  for  Santa  Margarita  on  our 
return  to  Palma.  Long  processions  of  country  carts 
were  returning  from  Mass,  with  men  and  women  seated 
upon  sacks  at  the  bottom  of  the  vehicles ;  but  the  fields 
were  deserted  save  for  an  occasional  swineherd  tending 
his  beasts  among  the  carob  groves. 

Near  Sineu  we  passed  a  large  corral  of  young  mules 
with  their  mothers ;  so  proudly  do  these  quaint,  long- 
eared  infants  follow  the  handsome  black  mares  that  one 
is  irresistibly  reminded  of  the  inquiry  put  by  an  interested 
listener  to  the  man  who  was  boasting  of  his  mother's 
beauty — "C'etait  done  Monsieur  votre  pere  qui  n'etait  pas 
beau?" 

The  night  was  spent  at  Sineu,  and  returning  to  Palma 
the  following  morning  we  settled  down  at  the  Grand 
Hotel  for  a  week  before  starting  on  our  second  driving 

6 


66  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

tour,  which  was  to  introduce  us  to  the  North-western 
corner  of  the  island. 


For  the  next  few  days  the  weather  behaved  as  badly 
as  it  occasionally  will  do  in  southern  lands  where  its 
reputation  is  at  stake.  The  Palma  natives  became  first 
apologetic,  then  exasperated ; — "Fie, for  shame ! "  screamed 
an  old  woman  angrily,  addressing  the  rain  from  her  shop 
door  where  we  had  taken  shelter  in  a  downpour — "  Fie, 
for  shame  !  What,  then,  will  the  English  ladies  think 
of  us ! " 

But  the  spirit  of  perversity  had  entered  into  the  Spring ; 
she  sprinkled  snow  upon  the  mountains,  and  kept  the 
mail-boats  imprisoned  at  Barcelona;  she  drenched  the 
shivering  population  till  the  very  swallows  sat  discon- 
solately on  the  clothes  lines,  drooping  their  wet  wings ; 
and  she  persisted  in  making  such  ugly  threatening  faces 
that  it  looked  as  if  we  should  never  start  for  Andraitx 
at  all.  Reason  certainly  pointed  to  our  remaining  at 
Palma;  we  were  warm  and  comfortable  at  the  Grand 
Hotel — we  got  far  better  food  than  we  ever  did  on  our 
travels,  and  the  Dark-room  itself  was  more  commodious 
than  might  be  our  future  quarters  in  some  village  fonda. 
On  the  other  hand  time  was  passing,  and  we  had  yet 
much  to  see ;  finally  we  decided  to  risk  all  and  to  go. 

The  heavens  were  black  with  clouds  when  we  set  oft 
on  the  morning  of  March  27th,  but  before  we  had  been 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  67 

gone  half  an  hour  our  lucky  star  shone  out,  and  the 
weather  executed  a  complete  volte-face  such  as  one  is  led 
to  believe  any  climate  but  our  own  would  be  ashamed  of. 
Brilliant  sunshine  dried  up  the  puddles  with  that  amazing 
rapidity  peculiar  to  porous  soils,  and  the  day  suddenly 
decided  to  be  quite,  quite  fine. 

So  excellent  may  be  the  results  obtained  from  flying 
in  the  face  of  Providence — if  only  it  be  done  at  the  right 
moment. 

Merrily  our  little  horses  jingled  along  the  splendid 
carretera  real — the  royal  road — that  leads  to  Andraitx  ; 
now  we  follow  the  coastline  and  catch  glimpses  of  blue 
waves  and  fringes  of  white  foam  between  the  stems  of 
the  pine-trees;  now  we  turn  inland  among  the  olive 
groves — where  the  old  trees  pirouette  airily  or  stand  with 
feet  gracefully  crossed  upon  the  hill  slopes,  amidst  pink 
and  white  cistus  and  bushes  of  wild  mignonette.  In 
three  hours  we  reach  Andraitx,  where  the  carriage  road 
terminates,  and  having  no  further  use  for  our  victoria  we 
send  it  back  to  Palma,  with  instructions  to  meet  us  the 
next  day  but  one  at  the  village  of  Estallenchs  beyond  the 
mountains. 

Andraitx,  the  old  Andrachium  of  the  Romans,  is  a 
prosperous-looking  town  lying  in  a  green  valley  of  almond 
orchards ;  most  of  the  inhabitants  are  sea-faring  folk, 
and  down  by  the  shore — five  miles  distant — we  found  a 
little  colony  of  houses  where  fishermen  in  red  Phrygian 
caps  were  mending  their  nets  until  the  gale  should  abate. 
It  was  assuredly  no  day  to  put  out  to  sea  so  long  as  white 


68  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

foam  was  running  up  the  face  of  the  cliffs,  driven  by  a 
wild  west  wind. 

The  church  of  Andraitx  is  one  of  the  oldest  in  the 
island ;  it  stands  upon  rising  ground  above  the  town,  its 
great  blank  walls  plain — even  in  a  land  of  plain  exteriors ; 
and  beside  it  stands  the  fine  old  Possession-house  of 
Son  Mas,  said  to  date  back  to  the  time  of  the  Moors. 
The  Possession-houses  of  Majorca  were  originally  the 
country  seats  of  the  Spanish  nobility ;  once  inhabited  by 
the  great  landowners,  they  have  now  descended  to  the 
level  of  farmhouses  and  have  become  the  residence  of 
the  principal  tenant  farmer  upon  the  estate,  who  goes  by 
the  name  of  the  Amo,  or  master.  These  fine  old  build- 
ings usually  stand  in  the  centre  of  some  large  property, 
and  are  almost  invariably  fortified  and  adapted  to  stand 
a  siege. 

Very  picturesque  is  the  straggling  yellow  pile  of  Son 
Mas,  with  its  high  walls  and  machicolated  tower.  Passing 
under  a  heavy  stone  archway  we  cross  a  large  courtyard, 
where  pigeons  are  stepping  through  stately  minuets  upon 
a  vine  pergola,  and  ascend  by  a  flight  of  steps  to  a  broad 
open  gallery,  supported  on  pillars,  that  runs  along  the 
front  of  the  house.  We  are  shown  the  spacious  kitchen 
and  living  rooms  of  the  present  occupants,  and  are  then 
led  through  suite  after  suite  of  disused  apartments  - 
whitewashed,  stone-flagged,  shuttered,  given  up  to  bats 
and  cobwebs.  In  the  rooms  occupied  by  the  Senor,  when 
on  rare  occasions  he  pays  a  visit  to  his  estate,  are  a  few 
pieces  of  the  old  furniture — some  wooden  chests,  such  as 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  69 

take  the  place  of  wardrobes  in  Majorcan  households,  a 
carved  bedstead,  and  a  few  old  paintings — fast  going  to 
decay.  Soon  there  will  be  nothing  save  the  stone 
scutcheon  in  the  courtyard  to  preserve  the  memory  of 
the  founder  of  Son  Mas. 

Behind  the  house  is  an  enormous  reservoir  containing  a 
water  supply  that  would  outlast  any  conceivable  siege  to 
which  the  inhabitants  might  be  subjected.  The  cement 
roof  of  the  tank  forms  a  wide  terrace — some  ninety  by 
thirty  feet — and  two  well-shafts,  thickly  lined  with  maiden- 
hair fern,  give  access  to  the  water. 

A  winding  staircase  leads  to  the  summit  of  the  old 
watch-tower,  where  from  an  open  loggia  under  the  roof 
the  besieged  could  hurl  down  missiles  upon  the  foe  before 
the  gate.  In  an  unguarded  moment  I  attempted  the 
ascent  of  this  tower,  and  never  shall  I  forget  the  sensa- 
tion of  that  climb ;  losing  sight  of  my  feet  from  the  very 
start — my  head  being  always  three  turns  higher  up  the 
steps — and  momentarily  expecting  to  stick  fast  for  good, 
I  thrust  myself  in  spirals  up  the  narrowest  corkscrew 
stairs  it  has  ever  been  my  fate  to  encounter.  Judging 
by  my  own  sensations  I  should  guess  the  staircase  to 
have  measured  nine  inches  in  width — but  it  is  possible 
it  may  have  been  rather  more. 

As  we  sat  at  supper  that  evening  there  came  a  knock 
at  the  door  and  the  Alcalde  was  announced;  a  shy  little 
man  fingering  a  felt  hat  slipped  into  the  room  and  made 
us  a  low  bow ;  he  was  the  Burgomaster,  come  to  pay  his 
respects  and  to  inquire  if  we  had  all  we  wanted.  While 


70  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

entirely  appreciating  the  kindness  that  prompted  his 
visit  we  could  willingly  have  dispensed  with  it,  on  account 
of  the  immense  exertion  required  to  express  ourselves  in 
Spanish  at  all,  and  the  impossibility  of  doing  so  as  we 
should  wish.  We  gathered  that  he  was  placing  himself 
and  all  he  possessed  at  our  disposal,  and  we  did  our  best 
to  rise  to  the  occasion ;  but  sentiments  of  gratitude  are 
sadly  lamed  by  a  limited  vocabulary.  We  tried  to  improve 
our  position  by  asking  if  he  could  speak  French,  and 
expressing  our  disappointment  when  he  negatived  the 
question.  The  interview  was  punctuated  by  rather 
painful  silences — and  it  was  with  a  certain  sense  of  relief 
that  we  saw  our  friendly  visitor  bow  himself  out  again 
on  being  assured  there  was  nothing  he  could  do  for  us. 

All  that  night  a  terrific  storm  raged.  Mingled  with 
the  rattling  of  hail  and  the  crash  of  thunder  came  the 
sound  of  the  Sereno  hammering  at  the  house  door  to 
wake  the  fondista,  and  shortly  afterwards  we  heard  the 
latter  come  upstairs  and  pound  lustily  upon  the  door  of 
an  adjoining  bedroom;  some  senor  had  to  be  called  to 
catch  the  diligence,  which — according  to  Spanish  custom 
— leaves  Andraitx  at  the  extraordinary  hour  of  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning. 

By  the  time  we  had  finished  breakfast  the  sun  was 
shining  hotly  once  more,  and  we  were  able  to  start  for 
San  Telmo.  Seated  in  a  small  carreta — a  very  light 
skeleton  cart  on  two  wheels,  with  rush  mats  spread  over 
the  bars  of  the  bottom  and  sides — we  set  out  at  a  foot's 
pace  to  visit  the  old  castle  on  the  coast,  an  hour  and  a 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  71 

half  distant.  For  a  mile  or  so  one  ascends  by  a  very 
steep  mountain  road,  but  after  crossing  the  col  this  road 
deteriorates  into  the  roughest  of  cart  tracks,  winding 
down  to  the  sea  through  a  valley  of  pine-trees,  olives,  and 
carobs. 

A  country  road  in  Majorca  may  mean  anything — from 
a  tract  of  bedrock  scattered  with  loose  stones  of  any  size, 
to  a  soft,  uneven  hill-path,  barely  wide  enough  for  a 
wheeled  vehicle  to  pass.  Short  of  coming  to  actual 
steps,  a  carreta  is  expected  to  follow  anywhere  where  a 
pony  can  obtain  a  footing,  and  many  a  time  did  the 
bumps  and  lurches  to  which  we  were  subjected  recall 
George  Sand's  driving  experiences  in  the  year  1838. 

Speaking  of  what  is  now  one  of  the  finest  roads  in  the 
island  she  narrates  in  lively  French  how  in  her  day  the 
journey  was  perilously  accomplished — "  with  one  wheel 
on  the  mountain  and  one  in  the  ravine  .  .  .  The  jolting 
is  indescribable  .  .  .  yet  however  frightful  a  concussion 
the  driver  receives,  he  sings  all  the  time  in  a  loud  voice — 
only  breaking  off  to  bestow  curses  upon  his  horse  if  the 
animal  hesitates  for  an  instant  before  plunging  down  some 
precipice  or  climbing  some  rock  wall.  .  .  .  For  it  is  thus 
one  proceeds  —  ravines,  torrents,  quagmires,  ditches, 
hedges,  all  present  themselves  in  vain — one  does  not  stop 
for  so  little.  Besides,  it  is  all  part  of  the  road  ;  at  first 
you  think  you  must  be  steeplechasing  for  a  wager,  and 
you  ask  your  driver  what  possesses  him.  This  is  the  road, 
he  replies.  But  that  river  ?  It  is  the  road.  And  this 
deep  pit  ?  The  road.  And  that  bush  also  ?  Always 


72  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

the  road.  .  .  .  A  la  bonne  heure!  And  all  that  remains 
for  you  to  do  is  to  commend  your  soul  to  God  and  to 
contemplate  the  landscape,  while  awaiting  death  or  a 
miracle." 

Descending  from  the  carreta  shortly  after  starting,  to 
lighten  the  load  of  the  floundering  pony,  I  had  at  first 
persuaded  the  stout  proprietor  to  follow  my  example; 
but  within  a  very  short  time  he  had  climbed  in  again, 
observing  with  a  loud  gasp  that  the  way  was  long.  It 
was  not  the  first  time  he  had  been  to  San  Telmo ;  only  a 
year  ago  he  had  driven  two  English  ladies  there,  and  they 
too  had  had  a  camera,  and  on  the  way  it  fell  out  of  the 
cart  and  was  lost.  To  this  day  he  could  remember  their 
lamentable  cries  of  "La  maquina,  la  maquina!"  But 
five  days  later  it  was  picked  up  by  an  old  man,  who 
thought  it  was  a  bomb  and  carried  it  home  very  cautiously. 
The  ladies  were  very  pleased — oh  yes,  they  gave  him 
more  than  a  day's  wages  for  it. 

The  little  castle  of  San  Telmo  was  built  in  the  sixteenth 
century  for  the  protection  of  Andraitx.  It  stands  on  a 
rocky  prominence  by  the  seashore,  and  is  in  good  pre- 
servation, its  barrel -vaulted  dining  hall  serving  as  a 
workshop  for  the  old  man  who  lives  there.  From  the 
flat  roof  of  the  tower,  where  rusty  cannon  still  occupy 
the  embrasures,  one  looks  down  upon  a  pretty  beach, 
where  long  green  waves,  lit  up  by  the  sun,  break  gently 
upon  the  sand,  and  great  conch  shells  are  sometimes 
found  amongst  the  foam  fringes  of  the  surf.  Some  three 
hundred  yards  out  from  the  shore  is  the  low  turtle-backed 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  73 

rock  Pentaleu,  where  the  Conqueror  first  set  foot  on 
quitting  his  storm-tossed  galley;  and  screening  the 
northern  side  of  the  little  bay  are  the  bare  grey  flanks 
— dreaded  by  sailors — of  the  Dragon6ra,  Majorca's 
westernmost  outpost.  A  lighthouse  occupies  the  knife- 
like  ridge  of  the  summit,  and  cutting  along  through  the 
Freu — the  narrow  strait  between  the  island  rock  and  the 
mainland — comes  a  little  white  steamer,  the  Barcelona 
boat,  bringing  a  welcome  cargo  of  mails  after  a  silence 
that  has  lasted  more  than  a  week. 

The  following  morning,  March  29th,  we  set  out  for 
Estallenchs,  our  cavalcade  consisting  of  one  riding  mule 
and  a  sturdy  donkey  to  carry  the  luggage.  No  expedition 
could  have  offered  a  greater  contrast  to  our  tour  of  the 
preceding  week  than  did  this  journey  across  the  moun- 
tains. On  the  southern  plain  a  whole  day's  march  of 
thirty  miles  is  accomplished  in  a  morning's  drive ;  in  the 
Sierra  we  take  four  hours  to  cover  a  distance  of  twelve 
miles.  Up  and  down  among  the  hills  winds  the  mule 
track ;  now  we  are  high  above  the  lapis  lazuli  sea,  on  a 
mountain  path  knee  deep  in  palmetto  fans  and  the  red- 
velvet  flower  of  lentiscus  bushes ;  now  we  descend  to  a 
torrent  bed  hemmed  in  by  great  grey  cliffs  scarred  with 
red  scarps  where  part  of  the  hillside  has  broken  off  and 
poured  like  an  avalanche  into  the  bed  of  the  valley.  Now 
we  enter  the  pine  woods  where  the  white  allium  and  many 
orchises  grow,  and  the  air  is  fragrant  with  rosemary  and 
gorse.  Further  on  we  come  to  a  winding  rock  staircase 
cut  in  the  face  of  the  cliff,  down  which,  our  guide  tells  us, 


74  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

it  is  not  safe  to  ride  ;  the  only  surprising  thing  is  that  any 
animal  except  a  goat  should  be  expected  to  descend  it ; 
and  here  our  baggage  donkey  distinguished  himself  by 
slipping  down  and  lying  motionless,  but  quite  unhurt, 
till  he  was  unloaded  and  dragged  on  to  his  legs  again. 

A  rough  cart  track  winds  for  some  way  into  these 
lonely  hills,  and  we  meet  timber  carts  descending  with 
loads  of  fir-trees,  the  mules  stumbling  and  sliding  on 
their  haunches  down  the  steep  hillside — the  heavy  two- 
wheeled  carts,  with  powerful  brakes  on,  crashing  and 
jolting  behind  them  over  boulders  and  tree- stumps. 

As  we  approach  human  habitations  again,  traces  of 
cultivation  once  more  appear ;  small  terraces  are  levelled 
on  the  mountain  side  and  planted  with  almond-trees,  from 
which  our  men  snatch  handfuls  of  young  milky  nuts  in 
passing — a  universal  habit  that  has  given  rise  to  the 
sarcastic  proverb,  "  The  laden  almond-tree  by  the  wayside 
is  sure  to  be  bitter."  At  last,  after  a  long  and  fatiguing 
descent  by  shallow  paved  steps,  we  come  in  sight  of 
Estallenchs — a  pretty  village  nestling  in  a  fold  of  the 
hills,  backed  by  cliffs,  grey  peaks  of  sun  and  shadow ;  in 
front  a  valley  opening  down  to  the  sea,  with  hill  slopes 
clothed  in  almond,  olive,  and  fir. 

The  inn  is  a  very  humble  building,  and  does  not  even 
entitle  itself  a  fonda.  The  master  of  the  house  was 
absent,  and  the  old  woman  left  in  charge  spoke  no 
Spanish;  we  spoke  no  Majorcan,  and  by  way  of  facili- 
tating conversation  she  suddenly  sent  an  urgent  message 
to  the  village  doctor,  who  arrived  post  haste,  thinking 


si 


-0  o 


-o  ^J 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  75 

that  some  accident  had  befallen  the  English  senoras. 
Somewhat  dashed  at  finding  us  both  uninjured  and  in 
good  health,  he  yet  conversed  with  us  very  pleasantly  in 
our  attic  chamber,  offered  to  show  us  the  place,  translated 
various  requests  for  us,  and  before  leaving  ordered  our 
dinner.  Thanks  to  his  ministrations  we  lacked  for 
nothing  that  night,  the  only  hitch  occurring  at  bedtime, 
when  our  best  efforts  to  obtain  candles  resulted  in  a  dish 
of  olives  being  set  before  us. 

The  following  morning  a  cheerful  jingle  of  bells 
announces  the  arrival  of  our  good  Pepe  and  the  victoria ; 
the  approach  to  the  inn  being  too  narrow  for  a  carriage 
to  pass,  our  belongings  are  carried  up  to  the  main  road 
and  there  bestowed  upon  the  box.  Village  dames  look 
on  from  their  doorways  and  nod  affably,  and  one  of  them 
invited  us  to  come  in  while  waiting  for  the  carriage  to  be 
packed,  and  took  the  deepest  interest  in  our  proceedings 
when  we  proposed  photographing  her  room — only  regret- 
ful that  her  floor  was  not  yet  covered  with  the  tiles  she 
showed  us  stacked  in  readiness.  The  only  light  streamed 
through  the  great  stone  archway  of  the  outer  door,  and 
revealed  the  usual  spotless  interior  of  a  Majorcan  house, 
the  walls  snowy  with  repeated  coats  of  whitewash. 
Good  string-seated  chairs  and  stools  were  ranged  neatly 
round  the  room,  and  on  the  shelves  stood  the  graceful 
water- jars  in  daily  use  among  the  people.  Boxwood 
spoons  and  forks  hung  in  a  rack  by  the  chimney  corner, 
and  over  a  clear  fire  of  almond-shells  upon  the  hearth 
bubbled  a  pot  of  bean  soup ;  nothing  would  content  the 


76  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

good  housewife  but  that  we  should  taste  it — and  most 
excellent  it  was.  Everything  about  the  place  was  tidy 
and  exquisitely  clean. 

You  might  search  in  Majorca  for  a  long  time  I  fancy 
before  you  would  find  a  slattern. 

The  scale  of  wages  in  the  island  is  low — a  labourer 
rarely  earning  more  than  eighteen  pence  a  day ;  but 
there  is  every  sign  of  general  prosperity.  The  necessaries 
of  life  are  very  cheap,  and  a  well-built  stone  house  can 
be  obtained  in  country  villages  at  a  rental  of  from  two  to 
three  pounds  a  year. 

The  drive  from  Estallenchs  to  Banalbufar  is — from  the 
point  of  view  of  scenery — one  of  the  finest  in  the  island  ; 
high  above  the  sea  runs  the  road,  following  every  curve 
of  the  rugged  coast ;  dark,  fir-crowned  cliffs  tower  over- 
head, and  mountain  ranges  in  splendid  perspective  jut 
out  into  the  blue  Mediterranean.  Headland  upon  head- 
land, point  upon  point — each  intervening  bay  outlined 
with  a  semicircle  of  snow-white  foam — they  stretch 
back  to  where  the  faint  blue  battering-ram  of  the 
Dragonera  is  still  dimly  visible  in  the  haze  of  distance. 

Perched  on  a  rock  pinnacle  above  the  sea  stand  the 
yellow  walls  of  an  old  watch  tower ;  these  towers,  or 
ataldyas  as  they  are  called,  were  in  olden  days  tenanted 
by  coastguards,  who  from  their  lofty  eyries  watched  the 
sea  and  gave  the  alarm  to  the  countryside  when  any 
suspicious  sail  appeared  on  the  horizon ;  a  system  of 
smoke-signals  was  in  use  by  which  the  movements  of 
a  hostile  fleet  could  be  communicated  to  all  the  other 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  77 

ataldyas  along  the  coast  and  to  the  inhabitants  of  the 
interior. 

Banalbufar  is  a  small  village  built  upon  a  mountain 
slope  high  above  the  sea,  chiefly  noticeable  for  the 
marvellous  terracing  of  the  surrounding  hillsides;  the 
terraces  are  so  narrow  and  the  walls  so  high  that  seen 
from  below  the  effect  is  that  of  an  unbroken  stone  wall 
several  hundred  feet  in  height,  while  from  a  little  dis- 
tance they  resemble  a  gigantic  flight  of  curved  steps  or 
an  inverted  amphitheatre  upon  the  hillside.  Vines  and 
tomatoes  are  largely  grown  by  the  industrious  inhabitants. 

Down  by  the  sea,  in  the  cavernous  recesses  of  over- 
hanging rocks,  are  some  curious  corn  mills,  to  which  one 
descends  by  a  steep  paved  path,  the  tiny  mountain 
stream  that  works  the  mills  raging  and  sluicing  along- 
side in  a  polished  aqueduct  at  such  prodigious  speed 
that  upon  touching  the  water  your  hand  receives  a  smart 
blow. 

Here  upon  a  small  headland  below  the  village  we  ate 
our  luncheon,  among  clumps  of  purple  stock  and  bushes 
of  bright  green  spurge — devouring  the  while  a  week's 
budget  of  letters  that  Pepe  had  brought  out  with  him ; 
after  which  we  rejoined  our  carriage  and  began  the  long 
ascent  of  the  Col  that  lay  between  us  and  Pahna.  Like 
a  snake  does  the  white  road  wind  in  loops  up  the  moun- 
tain side ;  the  Pinus  maritima  clothes  the  hill  slopes 
to  the  very  summit,  but  rarely  attains  an  even  respect- 
able size.  In  this  respect  Majorca  differs  strikingly 
from  Corsica,  where  grand  forests  of  Laricio  pine 


78  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

flourish  in  the  rockiest  of  soils.  Natural  timber  is  indeed 
a  feature  entirely  lacking  in  the  greater  part  of  Majorca, 
owing  to  the  fact  that  whenever  it  is  in  any  way  possible 
to  utilise  the  ground  it  is  devoted  to  the  more  profitable 
culture  of  the  olive  and  almond. 

Leaving  the  mountains  behind  us  we  presently  pass 
Esporlas,  with  its  rushing  stream  bordered  by  Lombardy 
poplars,  and  its  great  cloth  factory,  where  hanks  of  dyed 
cotton  are  hanging  out  to  dry ;  and  soon  after  reaching 
Establiments — a  trim  and  prosperous  towrnlet  nine  kilo- 
metres from  Palma — the  rain  comes  down  in  torrents. 
We  meet  flocks  of  drenched  sheep,  and  tilted  country 
carts  returning  from  market,  each  carter  fast  asleep 
inside,  with  his  head  on  a  pile  of  sacks  and  a  blanket 
drawn  up  to  his  chin,  leaving  all  responsibility  to  the 
sagacious  mule  who  steps  aside  to  let  us  pass.  The 
wheat  fields  are  dripping,  the  wet  air  is  heavy  with  the 
scent  of  flowering  may,  and  Palma  itself  is  spanned  by 
a  bright  rainbow.  Let  it  rain !  we  are  back  in  comfort- 
able quarters  once  more ! 


On  the  2nd  of  April  we  went  to  spend  a  few  days  at 
Soller — the  one  inevitable  expedition  for  all  visitors  to 
Palma.  By  the  most  direct  route  the  drive  only  occupies 
three  hours,  but  it  is  best  to  make  a  detour  by  way  of 
Valldemosa  and  Miramar,  so  as  to  include  the  beautiful 
scenery  of  the  north  coast. 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  79 

Long  and  straight  and  flat  is  the  road  to  Valldemosa, 
the  cornfields  on  either  side  decked  out  with  blue  borage, 
gladiolus,  and  pink  allium,  and  bordered  with  a  fringe 
of  flaring  yellow  daisies — the  kind  known  in  English 
gardens  as  annual  chrysanthemums.  A  brilliant  touch 
of  colour  is  given  by  a  row  of  bright  vermilion  flower- 
pots, set  out  on  the  snow-white  parapet  of  a  country 
house;  but  actual  flower  gardens  are  as  lacking  among 
the  homesteads  of  Majorca  as  among  those  of  most 
southern  lands  —  and  the  peasants  would  no  doubt 
marvel  greatly  at  the  sentiment  which  induces  an 
English  cottager  to  allot  so  much  valuable  space  to 
flowers  when  he  might  devote  it  to  the  utilitarian 
onion  or  the  practical  potato. 

A  couple  of  hours'  drive  brings  one  to  the  foot  of  the 
mountains,  and  passing  through  a  fine  gorge  the  road 
ascends  to  the  village  of  Valldemosa,  perched  upon  a 
saddle  among  the  hills.  It  was  here  that  in  the  six- 
teenth century  Santa  Catalina  was  born — the  pious 
maiden  who  on  her  walks  used  the  leaves  of  the  olive 
and  lentisk  as  rosaries,  and  who  from  her  cell  heard 
mass  being  celebrated  in  Palma  Cathedral,  ten  miles 
distant;  but  Valldem6sa's  chief  claim  to  fame  lies  in 
her  great  Carthusian  monastery,  a  huge  yellow  pile 
occupying  the  ridge  above  the  village.  Originating  as 
the  summer  palace  of  the  Moorish  rulers  of  Majorca, 
the  great  building  was  subsequently  used  as  a  residence 
by  the  kings  of  Aragon,  and  it  was  not  till  the  year  1400 
that  it  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  monks;  fortified, 


BO  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

restored,  and  added  to  at  various  times,  the  monastery 
eventually  covered  an  enormous  area  of  ground,  and 
sufficient  still  remains  to  amaze  us  at  the  lavish  style 
in  which  twelve  Carthusian  friars  and  their  Father 
Superior  were  housed. 

When  the  monastery  was  suppressed  in  1835,  the 
Spanish  government  made  over  the  newer  wing  of 
the  building  to  private  persons,  and  nine  Majorcan 
families  occupy  the  monks'  old  quarters  to  this  day. 
Very  charming  are  these  monastic  residences,  entered 
from  the  cool,  whitewashed  cloisters ;  each  set  of  rooms 
is  quite  secluded  from  the  rest,  and  each  has  its  small 
terrace  garden  to  the  south,  where  lemon-trees  bask  in 
the  sunshine,  screened  by  the  high  walls  that  divide 
each  monk's  territory  from  that  of  his  neighbour  on 
either  side.  From  the  low  parapet  in  front  one  looks 
out  over  a  steep  declivity  of  orange  groves  and  ranges 
of  hills  stretching  down  to  the  gorge — the  gate  of  the 
plains. 

It  was  in  one  of  these  apartments  that  George  Sand 
passed  the  winter  when  she  visited  the  island  with  her 
two  children  in  the  year  1838,  accompanied  by  the 
invalid  Chopin.  The  accommodation  provided  for  one 
Carthusian  friar — three  good-sized  rooms  and  a  kitchen 
on  the  ground  floor,  with  as  many  bedrooms  above  stairs 
— afforded  ample  living  room  for  the  party  of  four ;  but 
the  winter  proved  bitterly  cold,  and  all  the  comforts 
of  a  northern  home  were  lacking  in  an  island  where 
open  fireplaces  are  unknown,  and  a  brazier  filled  with 


"?  °        & 


tJ    O 


Ij 


•24t« 


<u  ,<2 

«ts 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  81 

charcoal  is  the  only  means  of  warming  a  room.  At 
great  expense  an  iron  stove  was  brought  up  to  Vall- 
demosa  and  installed  in  one  of  the  rooms,  where  it 
smelt  abominably.  In  other  matters  the  unfortunate 
strangers  were  no  happier;  the  grand  piano — imported 
from  France — gave  such  endless  trouble  at  the  Palma 
customs  that  they  would  willingly  have  had  it  sunk 
in  the  harbour — but  even  that  was  not  permitted.  It 
was  only  after  protracted  wrangling  that  it  was  finally 
liberated  upon  the  payment  of  four  hundred  francs. 

The  attitude  of  the  Valldemosans  too  was  anything 
but  pleasant  or  conciliatory  to  the  French  exiles;  the 
expulsion  of  the  monks  was  too  recent  for  them  to  have 
become  reconciled  to  the  occupation  of  the  monastery 
by  lay  residents,  and  they  looked  with  intense  suspicion 
on  these  foreigners  who  never  came  to  church  and  who 
scandalised  society  by  allowing  a  little  girl  of  nine  to 
roam  the  country  attired  in  rational  costume. 

There  were  doubtless  faults  on  both  sides;  if  the 
peasants  regarded  George  Sand  as  a  heathen,  she  looked 
upon  them  as  uncharitable  and  bigoted  barbarians,  and 
she  contrasts  the  result  of  their  so-called  religion  with 
the  abomination  of  desolation  of  philosophy  in  which — 
as  she  ironically  remarks — her  own  children  were 
brought  up. 

Life  in  Majorca  seems  to  have  offered  few  attractions 
to  the  foreigner  in  those  days;  setting  aside  the 
difficulties  of  transit — difficulties  rendered  doubly  trying 
in  the  case  of  an  invalid — the  discomfort  of  the  pig- 

7 


82  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

boat  by  which  one  came  to  Palma,  and  the  shocking 
state  of  the  roads,  to  which  I  have  previously  alluded — 
setting  all  this  aside,  the  very  character  of  the  islanders 
seems  to  have  been  radically  different  when  George  Sand 
sojourned  amongst  them  from  what  it  is  now.  Accord- 
ing to  her,  the  Major  cans  were  dirty  and  impertinent ; 
they  cheated  one  shamelessly  at  every  turn ;  they  were 
calculating,  selfish,  and  utterly  heartless  where  their 
own  interest  was  concerned ;  letters  of  recommendation 
to  twenty  Palma  residents  would  hardly  suffice  to 
prevent  a  stranger  from  wandering  homeless  about  the 
town  on  arrival ;  and  if  any  luckless  foreigner  presumed 
to  complain  of  the  treatment  he  received,  or  so 
much  as  ventured  to  express  disapproval  at  the  presence 
of  scorpions  in  his  soup,  a  torrent  of  indignation  and 
contempt  descended  on  his  head. 

Now  our  own  impressions  of  the  Majorcans  differed 
so  wholly  from  the  above  description  that  it  is  difficult  to 
realise  that  the  writer  was  referring  to  the  same  people. 
Our  experience  of  the  island  was,  however,  necessarily 
a  brief  and  superficial  one — and  though  I  have  endea- 
voured faithfully  to  record  all  that  befell  us  on  our  travels 
I  am  open  to  the  charge  of  having  taken  too  couleur-de- 
rose  a  view,  or — in  the  more  pithy  Minorcan  phrase — of 
having  unconsciously  resembled  "  the  ass  of  Moro,  who 
was  enchanted  with  everything." 

I  therefore  quote  the  following  words  written  by  one 
not  open  to  this  charge — the  Austrian  Archduke  Louis 
Salvator,  who  for  more  than  twenty  years  made  the  island 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  83 

his  home,  who  travelled  about  among  the  peasants,  and 
who  probably  knows  the  island  and  its  inhabitants  more 
intimately  than  do  most  of  the  natives  themselves : — 

"The  Majorcans,"  he  writes,  "are  gentle,  cheerful, 
open-hearted,  compassionate,  and  charitable  to  the  poor ; 
faithful  in  friendship,  and  extremely  attached  to  their 
wives  and  children  ;  very  hospitable,  like  all  the  Balearic 
peoples — this  applies  to  rich  and  poor  alike,  who  all  heap 
kindness  upon  the  stranger  and  entertain  him  with  their 
best." 

How  to  reconcile  this  opinion  with  that  of  George 
Sand  I  do  not  know — for  it  is  not  usual  for  the  racial 
characteristics  of  an  island  people  to  alter  so  completely 
in  fifty  years.  I  can  only  imagine  that  the  French 
authoress  must  have  arrived  in  Majorca  at  an  inauspicious 
moment ;  that  she  unintentionally  roused  the  animosity 
of  her  neighbours,  and  that  she  may  have  been  actually 
unlucky  in  the  people  with  whom  she  came  in  contact ; 
while  anxiety  over  the  condition  of  her  sick  friend  did  not 
improve  her  temper.  It  must  not  be  supposed,  however, 
that  her  winter  at  Valldemosa  was  one  long  Jeremiad ; 
she  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  beauty  of  the  scenery  and  the 
flowers,  and  her  vivid  imagination,  her  spirit,  and  her 
sense  of  humour  carried  her  through  trials  that  would 
have  depressed  many  another  person. 

An  apology  is  due  to  her  memory  for  the  deliberate 
charge  brought  against  her  in  Murray's  guide-book  of 
having  damaged  a  certain  "  priceless  historical  docu- 
ment "  during  her  stay  in  the  island.  The  document  in 


84  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

question  is  a  curious  illuminated  map  of  Europe  and  the 
north  coast  of  Africa,  made  for  Amerigo  Vespucci  in  the 
year  1439  by  a  Majorcan  draughtsman  ;  and  George  Sand 
is  most  unjustly  held  up  to  the  reprobation  of  all  future 
travellers  as  having  obtained  permission  to  copy  this  map, 
and  as  having  upset  her  inkpot  over  it. 

That  an  inkpot  was  upset  over  it  she  herself  records  in 
dramatic  narration,  but  her  account  of  the  affair  goes  to 
show  that  she  had  neither  part  nor  lot  in  bringing  about 
the  accident ;  her  hair  stands  on  end  with  horror  as  she 
recalls  the  scene.  .  .  . 

She  was  being  shown  the  library  collected  by  Cardinal 
Despuig,  uncle  to  the  then  Count  of  Montenegro,  when 
the  house-chaplain  volunteered  to  show  her  the  precious 
map — the  gem  of  the  collection.  Spreading  it  on  a  table 
he  unrolled  the  beautiful  illuminated  parchment — whereon 
large  cities  share  the  Sahara  with  equally  large  savages 
mounted  on  camels ;  but  the  vellum  was  reluctant  to 
remain  flat,  seeing  which,  a  servant  placed  a  full  inkstand 
upon  a  corner  of  the  map  to  keep  it  open.  But  alas  !  its 
weight  was  insufficient !  The  scroll  gave  a  crack — a  leap 
— and  lo  !  it  was  again  rolled  up,  with  the  inkstand  inside! 

Horror  and  confusion  reigned ;  the  chaplain  fainted 
away ;  the  servants  were  petrified — and  then,  losing  their 
heads,  dashed  up  with  sponges,  brooms,  and  pails  of 
water,  and  fell  upon  the  map  with  zeal  so  fatal  that  king- 
doms, oceans,  isles,  and  continents  were  overwhelmed  in 
common  ruin. 

George  Sand  declares  she  was  not  even  touching  the 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  85 

table  at  the  moment  of  the  catastrophe — but  adds  pro- 
phetically that  she  quite  supposes  the  blame  of  it  will 
to  all  time  be  laid  at  her  door.  The  map  was  subse- 
quently restored  by  skilful  hands  to  nearly  its  pristine 
glory,  and  is  now  to  be  seen  under  glass  in  the  house 
of  the  Count  of  Montenegro  at  Palma. 

The  big  monastery-church  of  Valldemosa  contains  little 
of  interest  beyond  some  good  marble  mosaics,  and  hang- 
ing on  the  wall  is  a  curious  apparatus  not  unlike  a  pool- 
marker,  with  lettered  pegs  that  fit  into  holes — the  talking 
board  used  by  the  silent  monks  when  they  wished  to 
communicate  with  one  another. 

From  Valldemosa  an  hour's  drive  brings  one  to 
Miramar,  the  large  estate  purchased  in  1872  by  the 
Archduke  Louis  Salvator.  Before  arriving  at  the  house 
itself  one  passes  the  roadside  hospederia,  kept  up — with 
true  Majorcan  hospitality — by  the  lord  of  the  manor  for 
the  benefit  of  travellers  :  free  quarters  for  three  days,  with 
firing,  salt,  and  olives,  are  offered  to  all  comers,  and  the 
woman  in  charge  cooks  the  food  that  visitors  bring  with 
them.  This  hospice  makes  an  excellent  centre  from 
which  to  explore  the  north  coast  of  the  island,  and  good 
walkers  would  discover  countless  delightful  rambles 
amongst  the  pinewoods  that  clothe  the  cliffs  down  to 
the  water's  edge. 

The  Archduke's  own  house  is  a  plain  building  standing 
2,000  feet  above  sea-level;  the  name  Miramar — Sea  View — 
has  attached  to  the  site  ever  since  the  thirteenth  century, 
when  Don  Jaime  II. — acting  on  the  recommendation  of 


86  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

Kamon  Lull,  his  seneschal — founded  a  college  there. 
Never  was  a  name  better  deserved ;  like  a  silver  mirror  the 
placid  Mediterranean  lies  outspread  below  one,  its  motion- 
less surface  flecked  with  tiny  fishing  boats ;  dark,  fir-clad 
cliffs  slope  precipitously  to  the  sea,  and  far  below  lies  the 
red  rock  Foradada  like  some  gigantic  saurian  in  the  blue 
water.  Look-out  points,  or  Miradors,  are  constructed  in 
various  parts  of  the  grounds,  commanding  glorious  views  ; 
and  perched  upon  a  rocky  spur  lower  down  the  hill  is  a 
tiny  chapel,  recently  built,  dedicated  to  St.  Kamon  Lull. 
One  of  its  foundation  stones  was  brought  from  Bougie  in 
Algeria — where  the  saint  met  his  death  by  stoning — and 
another  from  San  Francisco,  in  memory  of  the  missionary 
Juan  Serra,  the  Majorcan  founder  of  the  Pacific  city. 

For  the  last  eight  years  the  Archduke  has  not  resided 
at  his  Majorcan  home,  greatly  to  the  regret  of  the  people ; 
the  house  is  uninhabited,  but  is  shown  to  visitors  by  the 
caretaker. 

Its  chief  interest  consists  in  the  entirely  native  character 
of  its  contents ;  everything  in  the  house  is  Majorcan — the 
thick,  soft  matting  on  the  floors,  the  string-seated  rocking- 
chairs  and  the  fat  stools  of  stuffed  basket-work ;  the  hand- 
some brass  braziers  and  the  carved  four-post  bedsteads ; 
the  inlaid  chests  and  cabinets,  and  the  splendid  collection 
of  faience  ware,  of  which  the  owner  is  a  connoisseur. 
Majorcan  too  is  the  vulture  in  the  garden — a  fierce,  brown 
bird,  who  hisses  at  visitors,  and  jumps  wrathfully  from 
branch  to  branch  of  the  aviary  in  which  he  has  lived  for 
seventeen  long  years. 


"  The    port    of    S oiler     is    a    fishing    village     of     narrow 
streets    ..." 

(page  89) 


"  We  came  up  with  a  palmer  from  the  Holy  Land,  posting 
•along  at  five  miles  an  hour." 


87) 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  87 

The  Archduke  is  the  author  of  a  very  exhaustive  and 
profusely  illustrated  work  on  the  Balearics,  "  Die  Balearen 
in  Wort  und  Bild" ;  but  unfortunately  it  is  too  costly 
a  work  to  become  generally  known,  or  it  would  bring 
many  travellers  to  visit  the  islands  which  the  author 
loves  so  well. 

On  leaving  Miramar  we  continue  along  the  coast  to 
Deya,  a  picturesque  village  of  clustered  houses  and  steep 
streets  of  steps,  perched  upon  an  isolated  peak  and 
backed  by  high  mountains.  Here  we  caught  sight  of  a 
strange  figure  striding  along  the  road  ahead  of  us,  and 
presently  we  came  up  with  a  holy  palmer,  who  might 
have  stepped  straight  out  of  the  twelfth  century — with 
cockleshells  and  staff,  and  with  his  sandal  shoon.  He 
was  posting  along  at  five  miles  an  hour  with  a  dog  at  his 
heels. 

"Whither  away,  0  Father  ?  "  we  asked  with  respectful 
salutation. 

"  Over  the  whole  world,  my  children,"  replied  the  old 
man,  turning  upon  us  a  rugged  face  framed  in  long  grey 
locks. 

We  learnt  that  he  was  a  native  of  Spain,  and  had  for 
years  been  on  a  pilgrimage  to  the  most  sacred  shrines  in 
all  lands  ;  he  had  been  in  the  Holy  Land  and  in  Egypt — 
had  visited  St.  James  of  Compostella,  and  Rome,  and 
Lourdes — and  now  was  on  his  way  to  the  shrine  of  Our 
Lady  of  Lluch.  His  wallet  contained  his  papers — 
vised  at  his  various  halting  places — together  with  a  few 
treasured  relics  from  the  Holy  Sepulchre ;  of  money  he 


88  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

had  no  need,  since  the  faithful  everywhere  would  give 
him  food  and  a  night's  lodging,  for  the  labourer  is  worthy 
of  his  hire.  But  he  dare  not  tarry,  for  he  had  yet  far  to 
go,  and  with  a  "  Buen  viaje!  "  we  drove  on  and  soon  lost 
sight  of  the  solitary  pilgrim  who  in  this  strange  fashion 
was  working  out  his  own  salvation. 

The  town  of  Seller  lies  almost  at  sea-level,  in  a 
spacious  valley  ringed  round  with  mountains  around 
whose  grey  peaks  buzzards  and  ravens — dwarfed  by 
distance  to  the  size  of  midges — circle  and  slant  for  ever 
to  and  fro. 

Warm  and  sheltered,  rich  with  orange  and  lemon 
groves,  date  palms  and  loquats,  and  entirely  enclosed 
with  hills  but  for  an  opening  down  to  the  little  port  on 
the  north,  Soller  is  Majorca's  garden  of  the  Hesperides. 
Though  it  is  only  April  3rd,  the  roses  are  running  riot  in 
the  gardens  of  Son  Angelats,  a  fine  house  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  town  belonging  to  a  March esa  who  only  resides 
there  in  summer  time  ;  it  has  terraces  overlooking  Soller, 
and  large  grounds  laid  out  with  orange  groves,  tall  palms, 
and  flowering  shrubs ;  roses  cover  the  terrace  walls  and 
climb  up  into  the  grey  olive-trees  from  whence  they  fall 
back  in  festoons — and  the  gardener  breaks  off  branch 
after  branch  for  us  as  we  go  along,  great  yellow  Marshal 
Niels,  pink  La  France,  crimson  tea  roses,  butter-coloured 
Banksias,  miniature  roses  de  Meaux,  and  fragrant  Madame 
Falcot ;  we  have  more  roses  than  we  can  carry.  The 
borders  are  full  of  pansies  and  polyanthus,  Parma  violets 
and  carnations;  we  are  given  bouquets  of  spirea,  freesias, 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  89 

peonies,  and  heliotrope,  and  we  drive  away  with  our  little 
carreta  decked  out  as  if  for  the  Carnival. 

The  Marchesa  has  beautiful  grounds — carriages  and 
horses,  and  many  servants ;  and  to  these  possessions  she 
adds,  with  true  Southern  incongruity,  a  most  remarkable 
approach  to  her  entrance  gate ;  several  yards  of  decayed 
cobble  paving — bestrewn  with  loose  blocks  of  stone  and 
full  of  deep  holes — over  which  a  small  stream  swirls 
rapidly,  intervene  between  her  carriage  gate  and  the 
road  outside.  The  bumps  and  crashes  with  which  our 
cart  forded  the  water  nearly  threw  the  pony  down,  and 
we  feared  at  one  time  that  a  wheel  was  coming  off,  but 
we  got  through  intact.  That  the  marchioness  should 
enjoy  this  episode  as  part  of  her  daily  drive  strikes  even 
the  natives,  I  think,  as  a  little  strange. 

The  modest  little  hotel  La  Marina  at  Seller  is  a  great 
improvement  on  the  ordinary  village  fonda ;  the  cooking 
is  good,  the  bedrooms  plainly  but  suitably  furnished,  and 
the  proprietor  and  his  daughters  spare  no  pains  to  make 
their  guests  happy.  Mules  can  be  procured  in  the  town 
for  mountain  expeditions,  a  carriage  and  pair  is  kept  for 
hire,  and  there  is  a  toy  carreton  belonging  to  the  hotel 
in  which  one  may  drive  out  alone — feeling  somewhat  like 
a  coster  going  to  the  Derby;  the  minute  white  pony 
hurries  one  along  at  extraordinary  speed  and  stops  for 
nothing  but  the  Majorcan  word  of  command — Poke- 
a-parg ! 

The  port  of  Soller,  about  half  an  hour  distant,  is  a  little 
land-locked  harbour  with  a  fishing  village  of  narrow 


90  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

streets  and  picturesque  houses.  Majorca's  northern  coast 
is  in  general  so  precipitous  and  inhospitable  that  the  safe 
anchorage  offered  by  the  Seller  harbour  was  a  great 
attraction  to  the  corsairs  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  many 
and  terrible  were  the  struggles  that  took  place  in  the  six- 
teenth century  between  them  and  the  inhabitants  of 
Seller ;  on  one  of  these  occasions  they  sacked  and  then 
burnt  to  the  ground  the  great  Oratory  of  Santa  Catalina, 
which  stands  on  a  headland  at  the  mouth  of  the  harbour. 
After  this  a  castle  was  built,  whose  guns  commanded  the 
entrance  to  the  port ;  but  of  this  nothing  remains  except 
part  of  a  tower,  now  incorporated  in  a  modern  dwelling- 
house. 

There  are  many  expeditions  to  be  made  on  foot  and  on 
muleback  into  the  mountains  that  surround  Soller; 
stalwarts  can  make  the  ascent  of  the  snow-crowned 
Puig  Mayor — Majorca's  highest  peak,  five  thousand  feet 
above  sea-level — or  visit  the  Gorck  Blau,  a  ten  hours' 
expedition,  with  several  miles  of  rock  steps  to  come 
down  on  the  way  back,  but  both  of  these  require  strength 
and  endurance.  Then  there  is  the  Barrdnco,  a  ravine, 
clean  cut  as  with  a  knife,  upon  the  summit  of  a  grey 
mountain  ridge  from  whence  a  splendid  view  is  obtained  ; 
and  there  is  the  Torrent  de  Pareys  on  the  north  coast,  to 
be  reached  by  boat  on  a  calm  day  in  about  two  hours. 

Of  the  shorter  excursions  one  well  worth  making  is  to 
the  hill  village  of  Fornalutx ;  the  road  runs  up  the  valley 
of  the  Torriente,  a  bubbling  hill  stream  with  banks  of 
blue  and  white  periwinkle  and  a  masonry  bed  overhung 


<a 
rfi    * 


a  a 


rl 


"  Many  of  the  houses  at  Fornalutx  are  extremely  old,  with 
quaint  staircases  and  old  stone  archways.1' 

(page  91) 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  91 

with  thousands  of  orange  and  lemon  trees,  beneath  which 
lie  oranges  in  golden  mounds,  like  cider  apples  in  a 
Somerset  orchard.  In  spite  of  the  scale  disease,  which 
in  latter  years  has  wrought  havoc  in  many  groves — 
blackening  the  fruit  and  destroying  the  foliage — the 
oranges  of  Soller  are  still  famous,  and  fetch  market 
prices  ranging  from  a  penny  to  fivepence  a  dozen,  accord- 
ing to  quality,  while  a  dozen  of  the  best  lemons  are  here 
sold  for  twopence. 

The  streets  of  Fornalutx  are  principally  flights  of  broad 
cobbled  steps,  and  many  of  the  houses  are  extremely 
ancient  and  fascinating,  with  quaint  wooden  balustrades, 
carved  window  frames,  and  old  stone  archways.  One  of 
those  we  visited  had  an  oil  mill  on  the  premises,  and  we 
were  shown  the  stone  bins  into  which  the  panniers  of 
olives  are  first  emptied,  and  the  great  trough  in  which 
they  are  subsequently  crushed  with  a  millstone  turned 
by  a  mule ;  the  olive  pulp  is  then  placed  in  flat,  circular 
baskets,  and  when  these  are  piled  up  in  layers  to  a  con- 
siderable height,  boiling  water  is  poured  over  them  and 
they  are  crushed  flat  by  an  immense  baulk  of  timber  that 
descends  upon  them  from  above.  The  exuding  liquid 
flows  into  a  tank  below,  where  by  the  happy  provision 
of  Nature  the  oil  is  able  to  be  drawn  off  by  a  surface  pipe 
while  the  water  is  carried  away  by  one  at  the  bottom. 
The  olive  harvest  takes  place  in  October  and  November ; 
the  oil  is  much  used  in  Majorcan  cookery — though  not  to 
any  unpleasant  extent — and  children  are  often  seen 
eating  slices  of  bread  spread  with  oil  in  place  of  the  jam 


92  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

or  dripping  with  which  it  would  be  flavoured  in  our  own 
country. 


Our  stay  at  Soller  was  cut  short  by  the  unkindness  of 
the  weather.  For  two  days  the  rain  held  off,  grudgingly ; 
but  on  the  third  we  awoke  to  find  the  whole  valley 
enveloped  in  a  dense  Scotch  mist ;  our  host  looked  up  at 
the  blurred  outlines  of  the  mountains,  and  he  looked  at 
the  gusts  of  cloud  that  were  blowing  through  the  barranco, 
and  he  shook  his  head ;  he  was  honest,  and  he  confessed 
that  the  prospect  was  not  hopeful.  A  rain  wind  sobbed 
round  the  house  as  we  sat  over  the  wood  fire  that  even- 
ing, and  from  an  adjoining  room  came  the  singularly 
monotonous  chant — high,  nasal,  and  quavering — with 
which  a  Majorcan  servant  girl  can  accompany  her  sweep- 
ing for  hours  at  a  time.  The  effect  was  indescribably 
triste,  and  our  thoughts  turned  to  the  flesh  pots  of 
Palma. 

The  following  morning  showed  no  improvement,  so 
our  host's  victoria  was  requisitioned  and  we  set  out 
on  our  return  to  the  Grand  Hotel.  For  an  hour  and  a 
half  our  two  sturdy  horses  toiled  up  out  of  the  valley,  the 
winding  zigzags  of  the  road  affording  us  now  and  again  a 
backward  glance  at  the  little  white  town  lying  in  the  lap 
of  the  hills,  framed  by  converging  mountain  slopes.  On 
reaching  the  top  of  the  pass  we  met  a  fresher  air,  and  we 
rattled  merrily  down  the  beautifully  graded  road  towards 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  93 

the  plain,  drawing  up  presently  at  the  wayside  villa  of 
Alfadia. 

Alfddia  is  an  ancient  caravanserai  that  still  bears  traces 
of  its  Moorish  origin;  passing  under  the  high  entrance 
gateway,  which  has  a  Moorish  ceiling  of  carved  and 
painted  wood,  one  enters  a  vast  courtyard,  surrounded  by 
stables  and  containing  a  fountain  and  a  pepper-tree  of 
immense  size  and  age.  When  first  we  entered  the  great 
quadrangle  it  was  absolutely  deserted,  but  no  sooner  did 
our  camera  mount  its  tripod  than  with  the  mysterious 
suddenness  of  Koderick  Dhu's  men  figures  emerged  from 
all  sides,  anxious  to  be  included  in  the  picture. 

Hardly  had  we  regained  our  carriage  when  the  rain 
that  had  long  been  threatening  began  to  come  down — 
first  gently,  then  harder,  and  finally  with  a  terrific  clap 
of  thunder  we  were  overtaken  by  a  kind  of  cloudburst. 
Whipping  up  the  horses  our  driver  made  a  dash  for  a 
wayside  inn  on  the  Palma  road,  and  driving  in  under  the 
deep  verandah-like  porch  running  along  the  whole  front 
of  the  building  we  drew  up  and  were  gradually  joined  by 
other  refugees  till  every  inch  of  standing  room  was  taken 
up.  Cheek  by  jowl  with  us  were  white-tilted  orange 
carts  from  Seller,  a  countryman  and  his  cow,  a  post  cart, 
sundry  mules,  and  a  number  of  pedestrians  who  arrived 
half  drowned  beneath  their  umbrellas ;  and  in  this  most 
welcome  shelter  we  all  remained  imprisoned  while  for  the 
next  half  hour  it  rained  as  I  have  never  seen  it  rain  before. 
Cascades  fell  from  the  edge  of  the  verandah  roof,  the  road 
became  a  river,  and  from  the  olive  grounds  gory  floods 


94  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

were  descending  and  were  struggling  and  leaping  through 
the  culverts  like  the  legions'  of  red  rats  charmed  out  of 
Hamelin  by  the  pied  piper. 

It  is  with  diffidence  that  I  venture  to  observe  that  a 
very  unusual  amount  of  rain  fell  around  Palma  this 
spring — for  there  is  a  growing  feeling  of  incredulity  on 
the  subject  of  unusual  seasons.  I  have  heard  of  a  man 
who  had  lived  for  thirty  years  in  Algiers,  and  who  asserted 
that  in  that  time  he  had  experienced  thirty  unusual 
seasons.  Few  winter  resorts  perhaps  could  equal  this 
record,  but  I  fancy  that  in  most  places  abnormal  seasons 
of  one  kind  or  another  are  sufficiently  common  for  the 
really  normal  one — when  it  does  make  its  appearance — to 
be  almost,  if  not  quite,  as  unusual  as  the  rest. 


On  April  16th  we  took  the  train  for  Alcudia  and 
set  out  on  our  fourth  and  final  tour  in  Majorca. 
When  I  say  that  we  took  the  train  for  Alcudia  I  mean 
that  we  went  as  far  in  that  direction  as  the  train  would 
carry  us,  for  with  a  strange  perversity  the  railway  line, 
instead  of  running  right  across  the  island  from  Palma  to 
Alcudia  and  so  connecting  the  latter  and  its  Minorcan 
service  of  boats  with  the  rest  of  the  world,  stops  short 
some  ten  miles  from  the  coast,  perhaps  with  a  view  to 
annoying  possible  invaders. 

Two  hours  after  leaving  Palma  we  descended  at  the 
terminus  of  La  Puebla,  where  we  and  five  other  persons 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  95 

scrambled  with  difficulty  into  an  immensely  high  two- 
wheeled  carrier's  cart  covered  with  a  canvas  tilt.  For 
an  hour  and  a  half  the  stout  horse  jogged  slowly  along  a 
flat  road,  and  then  we  drove  under  the  great  fortified 
gateway  of  San  Sebastian  and  entered  Alciidia,  an  ancient 
town  of  dingy-looking  houses,  with  paved  alleys  so  narrow 
that  our  horse  had  to  put  his  head  right  in  at  people's 
front  doors  in  order  to  turn  the  sharp  street  corners. 

Alciidia  is  still  surrounded  by  strong  walls  and  a  moat, 
fortifications  dating  partly  from  Eoman  and  partly  from 
Moorish  days.  During  the  great  peasant  revolt  of  the 
sixteenth  century  the  Aragonese  nobles  came  here  for 
refuge ;  their  yoke  had  been  a  heavy  one,  and  since  the 
annexation  of  the  island  by  the  crown  of  Aragon  discon- 
tent and  unrest  had  filled  the  population.  Oppressed  and 
heavily  taxed,  they  at  last  rose  in  insurrection,  and  form- 
ing themselves  into  armed  bands  laid  siege  to  Alciidia  till 
the  arrival  of  a  Spanish  fleet  turned  the  scales  against 
them.  Their  leader,  Colom,  was  beheaded,  and  his  head 
sent  to  Palma,  where  for  more  than  two  hundred  years  it 
hung  in  an  iron  cage  at  the  Puerto,  Margarita,  near  to 
which  is  a  square  that  still  bears  his  name. 

We  did  not  stop  in  Alciidia,  but  passing  out  of  the 
town  by  the  fine  Eoman  gate  called  the  Puerta  del  Muelle 
we  drove  on  to  the  harbour,  about  a  mile  distant. 

The  Fonda  de  la  Marina  on  the  seashore  is  a  large  and 
quite  civilised  inn,  with  whitewashed  corridors  and  rows 
of  numbered  deal  doors  ;  it  is  a  very  marine/bwdfo  indeed, 
being  situated  actually  on  the  water's  edge,  so  that  our 


96  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

driver  before  putting  us  down  takes  a  short  turn  in  the 
sea  to  wash  his  cart  wheels.  Fishing-smacks  lie  under 
our  windows,  and  Francisca  the  general  servant — in 
whose  absence  everything  is  at  a  standstill  and  who  is 
being  perpetually  screeched  for  from  the  front  door — 
comes  up  hurriedly  in  a  small  boat  from  the  mole  where 
she  has  been  buying  fish  for  our  dinner. 

Our  host  informed  us  that  two  visitors  were  already 
installed  in  the  house,  but  when  we  inquired  their 
names  and  nationality  he  was  hopelessly  vague.  To  the 
Majorcan  innkeeper  foreigners  are  foreigners,  and  as 
such  will  naturally  know  all  other  foreigners ;  and  he 
describes  bygone  guests  by  their  appearance,  age,  and 
such  traits  as  he  has  observed  in  them,  confident  that 
they  will  be  at  once  recognised  by  the  person  to  whom 
he  speaks.  To  his  disappointment,  however,  we  entirely 
failed — in  spite  of  his  most  graphic  description — to 
identify  our  fellow  guests,  and  it  was  not  till  we  were 
sitting  at  table  that  evening,  over  our  raisins  and 
cabbages,  our  lobster  salad  and  cutlets,  that  we  saw  two 
strangers  enter  whom  we  perceived  to  be  English.  They 
told  us  they  had  been  here  more  than  a  week,  and  had 
thoroughly  enjoyed  their  stay. 

Very  peaceful  is  the  great  bay  of  Alciidia,  with  its 
sand  dunes  and  pine  woods,  its  reedy  marshes,  and  its 
sickle-curve  of  dazzling  white  sand  encircling  the  deep 
blue  water.  One  may  wander  for  miles  along  the  lonely 
shore,  watching  the  ways  of  the  burying-beetles  that 
live  in  large  colonies  among  the  bee  orchises  and  cistus 


•2 

^  ^ 

v  ~ 


~      t/5 

~  -^ 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  97 

bushes  above  high-water  mark,  or  searching  for  shells 
and  fragments  of  coral  among  the  seaweed  rissoles  of  the 
Poseidonia  oceanica  that  bestrew  the  beach  in  countless 
numbers. 

There  are  many  excursions  in  the  neighbourhood  that 
good  walkers  can  easily  accomplish  on  foot.  Between 
the  harbour  and  the  town  of  Alciidia  are  the  remains  of 
a  Koman  amphitheatre,  supposed  to  mark  the  site  of  the 
old  Pollentia — long  disappeared ;  on  a  rocky  slope,  con- 
verted into  a  wild  flower  garden  by  a  gorgeous  tangle  of 
yellow  daisies,  convolvulus,  borage,  asphodel  and  mallow, 
can  be  traced  partial  tiers  of  seats  and  flights  of  steps 
cut  in  the  rock ;  and  in  a  depression  of  the  ground  are 
seen  the  caves  originally  destined  for  wild  beasts,  but 
now  inhabited  by  nothing  more  ferocious  than  a  family 
of  black  pigs  couched  upon  a  bed  of  seaweed. 

Here  and  there  among  the  flowers  one  stumbles  into  a 
grave  ;  there  are  rows  upon  rows  of  these  Roman  graves 
— narrow,  shallow  tombs  cut  in  the  surface  of  the  rock 
and  half  filled  with  earth.  Fragments  of  Roman  pottery, 
broken  lamps,  skulls  and  bones  are  constantly  picked  up, 
and  two  years  ago  a  grave  was  found  intact  by  some  men 
who  were  quarrying  freestone.  Like  the  rest,  it  was 
quite  shallow,  and  in  it  was  found  a  quantity  of  gold 
jewellery  that  had  evidently  belonged  to  a  Roman  lady. 
We  were  shown  the  ornaments,  which  comprised  a  brooch 
set  with  rubies,  an  oval  locket — which  at  one  time  had 
apparently  contained  a  portrait— a  long  chain  necklace 
with  clasps,  set  with  small  pearls  and  two  emeralds ;  two 

8 


98  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

handsome  gold  and  pearl  earrings,  and  a  few  smaller 
trinkets.  In  another  tomb  was  found  a  gold  bracelet, 
and  a  silver  coin  said  to  be  of  the  reign  of  Tiberius.  All 
these  are  now  in  the  possession  of  the  finder. 

Close  to  the  Eoman  cemetery  are  some  other  graves, 
half  hidden  by  rough  grass.  As  our  guide  turned  over 
the  earth  with  his  foot  he  disclosed  a  jawbone  furnished 
with  a  row  of  splendid  molars ;  from  the  style  of  burial 
and  other  indications  these  graves  have  been  decided  to 
be  Moorish,  but  as  far  as  we  could  learn  no  systematic 
investigation  of  the  ground  has  yet  been  attempted. 

The  following  morning  we  drove  to  the  Castillo  de 
Moras,  in  one  of  the  usual  tilted  carts,  drawn  by  a  big 
mule  that  for  some  time  showed  no  sign  of  being  able  to 
go  at  any  pace  but  a  walk ;  our  remark,  however,  that  a 
horse  would  have  been  swifter,  put  the  driver  on  his 
mettle,  and,  declaring  that  his  mule  had  great  velocity, 
he  urged  the  animal  into  a  fast  trot  which  was  kept  up 
as  long  as  the  condition  of  the  road  rendered  it  in  any 
degree  possible. 

Skirting  the  town  by  an  arrow  track  cut  in  the  bed- 
rock, and  dating  probably  from  Roman  times,  we  struck 
out  across  country  to  the  Moorish  fort  that  stands  on  a 
promontory  overlooking  the  bay  of  Pollensa.  In  spite 
of  its  age  the  little  Castillo  is  in  good  preservation ; 
moat  and  bastions  are  almost  intact,  and  a  squat  pylon 
of  yellow  freestone  gives  entrance  to  the  building  and  to 
a  broad,  flagged  terrace  on  the  side  towards  the  sea. 
Goats  browse  around  the  ramparts  among  palmetto  and 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  99 

lentisk,  cactus  and  asphodel ;  and  framed  in  the  embra- 
sures of  the  masonry  is  the  gorgeous  blue  of  the  bay, 
with  the  long  serrated  ranges  of  Cap  Formentor  visible 
in  the  far  distance. 

Below  us,  silhouetted  against  the  distant  headland  of 
the  Cap  de  Pinar,  stood  one  of  the  norias,  or  Persian 
wheels,  introduced  by  the  Moors  and  still  used  in  the 
island  for  raising  water  from  wells.  Bushes  of  pink 
stock  clambered  into  the  ancient  stone  aqueduct,  which 
led  away  from  the  noria  across  the  bean  fields;  some 
sheep  were  grazing  the  stony  ground,  watched  by  a  boy 
in  an  enormous  straw  hat,  who  stood  in  the  shade  of  a 
clump  of  pines.  It  was  a  pretty  pastoral  scene,  typical 
of  the  peaceful  tide  of  life  that  flows  on  around  the 
Moors'  old  fort. 

The  southern  shore  of  the  Bay  of  Pollensa  is  very 
beautiful,  and  by  an  amazingly  bad  road  it  is  possible  to 
drive  a  considerable  way  along  it,  to  the  Cap  de  Pinar,  a 
wild  headland  where  we  spent  a  delightful  hour ;  at  our 
feet — far,  far  below — lay  the  waters  of  the  bay,  and 
beyond  it  the  trackless  sierra  of  Cap  Formentor  stretches 
its  arm  northwards  till  it  ends  in  a  bold  cliff  that  plunges 
sheer  into  the  sea.  Behind  us  is  a  mountain  range,  on 
the  slopes  of  which  is  visible  the  pilgrimage  church  of 
Our  Lady  of  Victory,  and  looking  inland  we  can  see  the 
pale  blue  pyramid  of  the  Puig  Mayor. 

It  was  a  fete  day,  and  crowds  of  holiday  makers  were 
returning  from  the  Cap — whole  family  parties  laden  with 
palmetto  roots  slung  over  their  shoulders ;  the  heart  of 


100  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

this  dwarf  palm  is  considered  a  delicacy  by  the  Majorcans ; 
the  plant  is  chopped  out  of  the  ground  with  an  axe,  and 
the  lower  leaves  trimmed  off  close,  leaving  only  a  tuft  of 
young  shoots  at  the  top,  which  gives  the  root  an  almost 
precise  resemblance  to  a  pineapple.  But  it  is  a  woody 
form  of  nourishment,  and  not  a  taste  to  be  acquired  after 
childhood  I  should  imagine. 

On  April  18th  we  left  Alciidia  for  Pollensa.  A  gale  had 
arisen  in  the  night,  and  we  awoke  to  find  the  bay  flecked 
with  foam  caps  and  the  white  sand  flying  like  smoke 
along  the  shore.  The  Barcelona  boat  was  many  hours 
overdue,  and  the  fishing  fleet  could  not  put  out  to  sea,  so 
that  the  men,  who  had  stocked  their  boats  overnight  with 
kegs  of  water  and  provisions,  instead  of  being  off  at  day- 
break as  was  their  wont,  were  reduced  to  mending  their 
nets  and  splitting  firewood  while  they  waited,  with  all  the 
philosophic  patience  of  their  kind,  for  the  wind  to  abate. 

Pollensa  is  about  an  hour  and  a  half's  drive  from 
Alcudia.  Surrounded  by  ancient  olive  groves  and 
rockeries  planted  with  patches  of  beans  and  wheat,  the 
old  town  lies  secluded  among  the  hills,  out  of  sight  and 
out  of  sound  of  the  sea — only  three  miles  distant.  On 
one  side  of  the  town  rises  the  green  Calvary  hill,  on  the 
other  the  bare  grey  Puig  de  Pollensa,  crowned  by  a 
pilgrimage  church  and  hospederia ;  this  passion  for  build- 
ing a  church  on  the  highest  and  most  inaccessible  spot 
attainable  is  a  really  curious  phenomenon. 

An  atmosphere  of  old-world  tranquillity  pervades  the 
place ;  undisturbed  by  railways,  approached  by  only  one 


"  The  generation  now  dying  out  is  the  last  that  will  be 
seen  in  the  dress  worn  by  their  forefathers  for  a  thousand 
years  past." 

(page  101) 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  101 

good  road — that  from  La  Puebla — and  brought  in  touch 
hardly  at  all  with  the  outside  world,  Pollensa  is  the  most 
characteristically  Majorcan  town  in  the  whole  island. 
The  older  men  still  wear  the  wide  Moorish  breeches,  the 
woollen  stockings  and  strong  leather  shoes  latched  across 
with  a  bow,  which  the  younger  ones  have  forsaken  in 
favour  of  the  less  picturesque  modern  garb.  The  genera- 
tion now  dying  out  is  the  last  that  will  be  seen  in  the 
dress  worn  by  their  forefathers  for  a  thousand  years  past, 
and  I  am  glad  to  have  visited  the  island  before  the 
costume  has  become  a  mere  tradition. 

Castillian  is  little  spoken  in  Pollensa,  and  our  stay  at 
the  inn  of  Antonio  de  Seller  was  complicated  by  the  fact 
that  our  good  host  and  his  daughter  knew  rather  less 
Spanish  than  we  did  ourselves.  The  old  woman  who 
swept  the  floors  was,  I  think,  a  little  touched  in  the  head, 
and  she  annoyed  us  considerably  for  some  time  by  pausing 
in  front  of  us  with  uplifted  broom — as  we  sat  in  our 
rocking  chairs,  peacefully  reading — and  haranguing  us  in 
Majorcan,  of  which  she  knew  we  did  not  understand  a 
word. 

"  Les  silents  out  toujours  tort  " — and  at  last  we  turned 
the  tables  on  her  by  suddenly  bursting  forth  in  emphatic 
English,  which  had  the  effect  of  silencing  her  completely, 
and  she  departed,  muttering  darkly,  no  doubt  more  con- 
vinced than  ever  that  we  were  mad. 

We  found  our  inn  to  be  comfortable,  and,  in  spite  of 
being  in  the  middle  of  the  town,  exceedingly  quiet.  The 
Majorcan  cookery  is  always  good,  and  though  liable  to 


102  ;   ;;/;;^ith;^  C^eta  in  Majorca 

become  monotonous,  a  certain  variety  of  diet  is  obtained 
by  moving  from  place  to  place.  Chicken  stewed  with 
rice,  or  a  ragout,  supplemented  by  fish  and  an  omelette, 
form  the  staple  dishes  of  Majorcan  fondas;  and  each  inn 
has  its  own  idea  of  what  a  sweet  course  should  be,  to 
which  it  rigorously  adheres;  at  Felanitx  we  got  into  a 
stratum  of  enormous  jam  puffs — larger  than  I  could  have 
conceived  possible ;  at  Arta  it  was  figs,  stuffed  with 
aniseed ;  at  Alcudia,  slabs  of  quince  jelly ;  at  Pollensa 
heavy  pastry  starfish,  which  made  their  appearance  twice 
a  day  with  unfailing  regularity. 

For  breakfast  coffee  can  always  be  obtained — although 
it  must  be  remembered  that  coffee  does  not  necessarily 
imply  milk,  unless  specially  ordered ;  and  with  the  coffee 
it  is  the  custom  to  eat  an  ensaimdda — a  kind  of  sweet 
sugar-besprinkled  bun.  Except  at  Palma  and  Soller, 
butter  is  not  to  be  had  ;  we  usually  supplied  its  place  with 
jam  we  carried  with  us,  but  at  Pollensa  we  found  our- 
selves reduced  to  our  last  pot,  and  that  pot  we  decided  to 
save  up  as  emergency  rations,  for  rumour  had  it  that 
'at  Lluch,  whither  we  were  bound,  we  might  be  glad  of 
anything  at  all. 

The  morning  after  our  arrival  at  Pollensa  we  drove  out 
to  the  Gala  de  San  Vicente,  a  bay  on  the  north  coast 
of  the  island  ;  after  driving  over  a  bad  road  for  some  miles 
we  left  the  galareta  and  walked  down  to  the  sea  by 
a  charming  path  leading  through  pine  woods  and  a  wild 
rock-garden  of  pink  and  white  cistus  and  yellow  broom, 
where  for  the  first  time  we  heard  the  nightingale.  Near 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  103 

the  shore  are  large  freestone  quarries — smooth-walled 
pits  of  cream-coloured  stone — where  men  are  employed 
in  detaching  great  blocks  with  wedges,  and  shaping  them 
with  saw  and  axe  ;  so  plentiful  is  the  freestone  in  many 
parts  of  the  island  that  not  only  the  houses,  but  the  field- 
walls  and  even  the  pigsty es  are  built  of  it.  It  is  extremely 
soft  and  easy  to  work  when  first  quarried,  and  has  the 
invaluable  property  of  hardening  more  and  more  as  time 
goes  on,  when  exposed  to  the  air.  This  causes  many  of 
the  ancient  buildings — such  as  the  Lonja  and  others — to 
look  quite  disappointingly  modern,  owing  to  the  smooth, 
unweathered  surface  of  the  walls  and  the  sharp  lines 
of  all  angles. 

Exceedingly  picturesque  is  the  little  blue  bay  of  St. 
Vincent,  with  its  enclosing  cliff  walls  and  jagged  peaks  ; 
on  a  small  headland  stands  a  ruined  ataldya  of  curious 
construction,  the  tower  being  rounded  on  the  land  side, 
but  forming  an  acute  angle  towards  the  sea. 

Amongst  the  prickly  pear  and  boulders  of  this  headland 
we  noticed  a  large,  almost  circular,  block  of  stone  that 
attracted  our  attention  from  its  bearing  traces  of  a  rude 
square  cut  in  its  upper  surface.  We  asked  the  daughter  of 
our  fondista,  who  was  with  us,  whether  there  was  any  legend 
attaching  to  the  ancient  stone,  but  she  was  interested  not 
at  all  in  pre-historic  man : 

"  That  mesa,"  she  explained — mesa  means  table,  and 
is  the  term  applied  to  all  the  megalithic  altars  in  the 
Balearics — "  that  mesa  is  there  for  visitors  to  have  their 
luncheon  upon." 


104  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

This  lack  of  observation  and  of  intelligent  interest  in 
their  surroundings  we  found  not  uncommon  among  the 
people,  who  have  an  almost  Oriental  incuriosity  with 
regard  to  things  that  do  not  practically  concern  them. 
Many  a  time  did  we  draw  the  attention  of  a  native  to 
some  conspicuous  plant  growing  in  profusion  around  his 
home,  and  ask  him  what  kind  of  flower  it  bore  when 
in  bloom ;  whereupon  he  would  reply  without  hesitation 
that  that  particular  plant  never  flowered  at  all,  and 
consider  himself  well  out  of  the  matter. 

I  remember  being  told  by  a  traveller  in  Spain  that  once 
when  in  the  very  centre  of  the  liquorice  industry  he 
inquired  of  his  landlord  what  part  of  the  plant  was  used, 
to  which  he  replied  that  it  was  the  root : 

"  And  what  kind  of  plant  is  it  that  supplies  these  roots?  " 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  plant  at  all — nothing  to  be  seen  above 
ground." 

Pursuing  his  inquiries  further,  he  found  a  man  who 
admitted  that  there  was  certainly  a  plant,  but  he  main- 
tained that  it  never  flowered.  This  was  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  acres  of  the  plant,  then  in  full  flower ! 

In  the  afternoon  our  host  drove  us  to  Aubercuix  in 
a  tilted  cart,  with  an  old  flea-bitten  Eosinante  in  the 
shafts.  Passing  the  quaint  Fuente  de  Gallo — an  urn- 
shaped  stone  fountain  presided  over  by  a  spruce  cock, 
where  all  day  long  the  women  fill  their  water  jars — we  had 
not  proceeded  more  than  half  a  mile  on  our  way  when  the 
back  bench  of  our  conveyance,  on  which  we  both  were 
sitting,  broke  down  with  a  loud  crack,  and  in  the  con- 


"  The    Fuente    de    Gallo,    an     urn-shaped    stone    fountain, 
presided  over  by  a  spruce  cock." 

(page  104) 


O 
CX+ 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  105 

fusion  our  best  umbrella  fell  out  in  front  and  got  badly 
kicked  by  the  horse.  Our  host  was  aghast ;  he  jumped 
down  and  repaired  the  damage  as  quickly  as  possible — 
propped  up  the  seat  with  some  chunks  of  firewood  that 
happened  to  be  in  the  cart — disengaged  the  umbrella  from 
the  horse's  hind  leg — and  tried  to  assure  us  that  all  was 
well.  But  it  was  far  from  well.  Our  appearance  had  for 
some  time  past  not  been  our  strong  point ;  repeated 
wettings  and  dryings  had  not  improved  our  hats ;  our 
clothes  were  almost  worn  out — and  now  the  best  umbrella 
was  just  as  baggy  and  bent  and  stained  as  the  other,  and, 
moreover,  would  only  open  in  a  lop-sided  way. 

We  were  not  a  little  annoyed  at  this  mishap,  but  our 
annoyance  was  soon  quenched  in  amusement,  so  curiously 
unconventional  was  our  host's  style  of  driving ;  hollerin' 
and  bellerin'  like  Prince  Giglio  of  immortal  fame,  as 
though  driving  half  a  dozen  plough  teams  at  once,  our 
good  host  urged  the  old  horse  to  speed  with  a  running 
accompaniment  of  vituperation  and  ceaseless  objurgations, 
ranging  from  threats  to  cajolements,  thence  to  sarcasm, 
and  occasionally  rising  to  heights  of  scathing  laughter, 
which  startled  the  old  horse  more  than  anything  else.  It 
must  not  be  imagined,  however,  that  our  progress  was 
rapid ;  the  noise  served  to  clear  the  road  for  half  a  mile 
ahead  of  us,  it  is  true,  but  the  old  horse  had  to  be  allowed 
to  walk  down  every  descent,  while  on  the  flat  he  was  not 
expected  to  exceed  a  gentle  trot ;  he  understood  his  master 
perfectly,  and  feared  him  not  at  all.  Never  did  we  see 
an  animal  ill-treated  in  Majorca. 


106  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

The  road  to  Aubercuix  takes  one  down  to  the  port  of 
Pollensa,  and  thence  round  the  bay  as  far  as  the  little 
lighthouse  on  the  opposite  point;  beyond  this  one  can 
only  penetrate  into  the  Cap  de  Formentor  by  a  bad  mule 
track,  or  by  taking  a  sailing  boat  and  landing  in  some 
little  cove  along  the  coast. 

Wonderful  was  the  view,  glorified  by  the  golden  even- 
ing light,  that  we  obtained  as  we  wound  along  the  water's 
edge  and  followed  the  gravelled  causeway  leading  to  the 
Faro ;  across  the  bay  shone  the  white  town  of  Alcudia, 
seemingly  built  on  the  seashore,  though  in  reality  far 
inland ;  looking  back  towards  Pollensa  the  scene  was  of 
marvellous  beauty — in  the  foreground  the  curve  of  the 
shore,  broken  by  black  clumps  of  rushes,  a  few  stunted 
trees,  and  an  upturned  boat  lying  on  the  sand ;  beyond, 
some  fishermen's  huts,  with  here  and  there  a  dark  pine- 
tree,  sharp-cut  against  the  dim  distance  of  the  sierra. 
Kank  behind  rank,  their  planes  parted  by  the  evening 
mist,  veiled  in  shimmering  tints  of  pink  and  violet,  dove 
colour  and  indigo,  and  melting  away  into  the  sunset  sky 
itself,  stretched  the  mountain  chains  behind  Pollensa. 
Their  peaks  were  tinged  with  flame,  and  the  rays  of  the 
setting  sun  descended  like  fire-escapes  of  golden  web  into 
the  azure  mist  that  filled  the  valleys. 

For  a  few  minutes  the  unearthly  light  lingered,  and 
then  the  sun  sank  out  of  sight ;  a  chill  sea-breeze  sprang 
up  as  we  set  our  faces  homeward,  and  the  stars  were 
shining  serenely  before  we  regained  our  fonda. 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  107 

The  following  morning  we  rode  to  the  Castillo  del  Bey, 
the  route  taking  us,  soon  after  starting,  over  the  fine  old 
Eoman  bridge  at  the  entrance  of  the  town.  For  an  hour 
and  a  half  we  pursued  a  good  mule-track  up  the  gorge  of 
the  Ternallas,  a  mountain  stream  dashing  down  through 
woods  of  ilex  and  pine,  with  bare  grey  peaks  towering 
overhead ;  leaving  the  forest  we  came  out  into  a  grassy 
and  boulder-strewn  trough  among  the  hills,  and  presently 
arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  crag  on  which  the  castle  stands. 
So  inaccessible  does  the  rock  look,  crowned  by  the 
skeleton  ribs  of  the  old  banqueting  hall — yellow  rock  and 
yellow  masonry  welded  in  one — that  at  first  sight  one 
wonders  how  the  ascent  is  to  be  even  attempted.  Up  a 
steep  hillside,  covered  with  rocks,  loose  stones,  and  prickly 
shrubs,  we  scrambled  and  toiled  on  foot  for  nearly  half  an 
hour;  more  and  more  desperate  grew  the  path  as  we 
advanced,  larger  and  larger  the  rock»,  to  be  surmounted ; 
but  at  last,  with  a  final  effort,  we  scaled  a  boulder  over 
six  feet  in  height  and  were  hauled  up  by  our  muleteers 
into  the  arched  doorway  of  the  old  fortress. 

The  origin  of  the  castle  is  lost  in  the  mists  of  antiquity ; 
it  is  supposed  to  have  existed  in  the  time  of  the  Romans, 
and  under  the  Moors  it  formed  an  important  stronghold 
to  which  they  retreated  after  evacuating  Palma.  Later 
on  the  flag  of  Jaime  III.  still  waved  over  the  Castillo  del 
Hey  after  the  whole  of  the  rest  of  the  island  had  gone 
over  to  Pedro  of  Aragon,  but  in  the  year  1343  the  loyal 
garrison  was  forced  to  surrender  after  a  siege  of  more 
than  two  months. 


108  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

Not  much  of  the  fortress  survives  at  the  present  time  ; 
three  pointed  freestone  arches  belonging  to  the  central 
hall  form  the  most  conspicuous  feature  of  the  ruins. 
Beyond  this  there  is  little  except  some  subterranean 
chambers,  and  a  few  fragments  of  rock-like  wall  and 
pointed  battlement,  still  untouched  by  time,  that  survive 
amidst  a  chaos  of  masonry.  From  the  northern  edge  of 
the  cliff— an  appalling  precipice  descending  sheer  to  the 
sea — a  magnificent  view  over  the  coast  and  the  surround- 
ing mountains  is  to  be  had  on  a  clear  day,  but  on  the 
occasion  of  our  own  visit  ominous  stormclouds  were 
closing  in  around  us,  and  the  horizon  was  a  blank  pall  of 
rain. 

Hardly  had  we  sat  down  to  luncheon  when  heavy  drops 
began  to  fall ;  seizing  our  cutlets  and  oranges  we  fled  to 
the  rock  tunnel  leading  from  the  entrance  to  the  interior 
of  the  castle,  and  in  that  narrow  and  draughty  passage 
continued  our  interrupted  meal;  but  to  our  dismay 
rivulets  soon  began  to  invade  our  retreat,  the  heavens 
poured  down  water  through  a  machicolation  overhead, 
and  before  long  we  were  sitting,  like  the  Blessed  Catalina, 
on  stones  in  the  middle  of  a  river  bed,  while  a  growing 
torrent  flowed  beneath  our  feet.  Our  men  wrapped  their 
blankets  around  them  and  squatted  patiently  in  the  door- 
way. Presently  footsteps  were  heard,  and  a  wet  stranger 
scrambled  breathlessly  in  at  the  tunnel's  mouth,  accom- 
panied by  a  guide  in  wide  indigo  breeches  soaked  to  the 
consistency  of  jelly  bags,  while  rivulets  ran  from  the  brim 
of  his  felt  hat. 


"  Presently  we  came  in  sight  of  the  Castillo  del  Key 
.  .  .  built  upon  a  crag  crowned  by  the  skeleton  ribs  of  the 
ancient  banqueting  hall— yellow  rock  and  yellow  masonry 
welded  in  one." 

(page  108) 


"  We  found  the  Gorch  Blau  filled  with  a  rushing  whirl  of 

foaming,  emerald-green  water    .    .    .r' 

(page  ii5> 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  109 

Still  it  poured — steadily — without  intermission;  the 
landscape  below  us  was  blotted  out  by  a  veil  of  driving 
rain ;  banks  of  cloud  were  sweeping  in  from  the  sea  and 
settling  in  woolly  folds  upon  the  hills,  which  appeared 
and  disappeared  as  one  storm  after  another  broke  over 
them  and  passed  on.  For  two  hours  we  waited,  and 
then  there  came  a  lull ;  sallying  out  in  desperation  we 
slid  and  scrambled  down  the  slippery  rocks  and  soaking 
vegetation  of  the  steep  hillside,  and  rejoining  our  equally 
wet  mules  set  out  for  home.  The  red  path  was  now  a 
quagmire  under  foot,  and  the  little  watercourses  were 
leaping  and  chasing  down  the  hills  to  join  the  river ;  but 
the  rain  held  off  and  we  got  back  in  safety,  being  met  at 
the  inn  door  by  a  chorus  of  inquiries  as  to  how  we  had 
fared,  laments  over  our  wetting,  and  an  optimistic  assur- 
ance that  on  the  morrow  the  weather  would  be  very  bonito 
indeed. 

But  when  morning  dawned  it  was  far  from  being  bonito 
— it  could  hardly  look  worse.  Nevertheless  we  determined 
on  making  the  march  to  Lluch — a  ride  of  about  four  hours 
across  the  mountains.  The  charge  for  a  mule  with  its 
attendant  muleteer  is  six  pesetas  for  this  journey  if  they 
return  the  same  day ;  but  if,  as  in  our  case,  they  are 
retained  at  Lluch  for  further  expeditions,  an  additional 
five  pesetas  is  asked  for  the  return  trip  to  Pollensa.  One 
of  our  mules  was  a  very  smart-looking  beast,  ridden  with 
the  iron  noseband  which  in  Majorca  usually  takes  the 
place  of  a  bit,  and  carrying  the  English  side-saddle  we 
had  brought  with  us,  covered  with  a  sheepskin  to  lessen 


110  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

the  slipperiness  so  fatiguing  to  the  rider  when  going  up  or 
down  a  steep  mountain  path  for  hours  at  a  time.  The 
other  one  was  a  sturdy  pack  animal,  bridled  in  inferior 
manner  with  a  hemp  halter  and  furnished  with  pack 
saddle  and  panniers. 

These  pack  saddles  are  extremely  comfortable  to  ride 
on  if  they  are  well  balanced ;  one  sits  as  on  a  broad,  soft 
platform  between  the  panniers,  dangling  a  foot  on  either 
side  of  the  mule's  neck,  the  idea  being  that  if  the  beast 
falls  you  will  alight  on  your  feet  and  get  clear  of  him 
whichever  way  he  rolls.  As  a  matter  of  fact  you  find 
it  impossible  to  move  at  all,  partly  owing  to  the  adhesive 
nature  of  the  sheepskin  on  which  you  are  seated,  and 
partly  to  a  heterogeneous  mass  of  luggage — rugs,  valises, 
and  fodder  bags — piled  high  on  either  hand,  while 
umbrellas  and  tripod-legs  close  your  last  avenue  of 
escape. 

The  mounting  of  a  laden  pack-saddle  is  a  problem  in 
itself,  and  to  the  last  I  could  discover  no  system  upon 
which  the  feat  is  accomplished ;  a  wild,  spasmodic  leap, 
taken  from  some  wall  near  the  animal,  usually — but  not 
always — lands  one  in  the  saddle,  and  once  in  position  a 
fatalistic  calm  is  the  best  attitude  with  which  to  confront 
the  perils  of  the  ensuing  ride.  The  most  well-meaning 
of  mules  has  habits  which  do  not  conduce  to  the  happiness 
of  his  rider  upon  a  mountain  track ;  he  will  pause  on  a 
hogsback  ridge  of  slippery  cobbles  in  the  middle  of  a 
swift  stream,  to  gaze  entranced,  with  pricked  ears,  at 
the  distant  landscape ;  with  an  absolutely  expressionless 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

countenance  he  carries  one  under  a  low  bough. — or 
anchors  himself  in  front  by  fixing  his  teeth  firmly  in  a 
tough  shrub  as  he  strides  by,  and  then  falls  over  himself 
as  his  stern  overtakes  him.  In  short  he  awakens  in  his 
rider  a  lively  sympathy  with  Dr.  Johnson,  who  was 
carried  as  uncontrollably  on  a  horse  as  in  a  balloon. 

The  paths  were  in  an  unusually  bad  state  that  day 
owing  to  the  recent  heavy  rain ;  great  parts  of  the  track 
were  under  water ;  every  torrent  was  swelled  to  twice  its 
normal  size,  and  miniature  Lauterbrunnen  falls  were 
leaping  down  the  faces  of  the  cliffs.  We  forded  several 
streams,  slithered  down  causeways  of  loose  sliding 
blocks,  and  scrambled  up  slippery  rock  steps  where  it 
was  all  the  mules  could  do  to  keep  their  feet  and  avoid 
falling  backwards. 

For  the  first  hour  we  rode  in  drenching  rain  through 
dark  ilex  woods  and  fine  mountain  scenery ;  but  as  we 
got  thigher  the  weather  improved — the  sun  came  out,  the 
birds  began  to  sing,  the  scent  of  wet  cistus  bushes  filled 
the  air,  and  emerging  on  to  a  grassy  plateau  we  presently 
came  in  sight  of  the  monastery  of  Lluch,  lying  in  a  level 
valley  high  up  among  the  hills — a  great  pile  of  yellow 
buildings  backed  by  grey  rocks  and  ilex-trees. 

Crossing  the  wide  green,  with  its  long  range  of  stabling, 
its  poplar- trees  and  fountain,  we  dismount — wet  and  tired 
— under  the  entrance  archway,  and  pass  into  a  large  quad- 
rangle formed  by  the  college,  the  hospederia,  the  priests' 
house,  and  the  oratory,  an  ornate  chapel  hung  with  em- 
broidered banners  presented  to  Our  Lady  of  Lluch. 


112  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

The  history  of  this  oratory  goes  back  to  a  date  shortly 
after  the  conquest  in  the  thirteenth  century,  when  a 
herd-boy  named  Lluch — or  Lucas — while  driving  his 
flock  home  one  night,  noticed  a  strange  light  upon  the 
mountain  side ;  on  relating  this  to  a  priest,  the  latter 
went  to  examine  the  spot  whence  the  light  proceeded, 
and  there  discovered  a  stone  statue  of  the  Blessed  Virgin 
and  Child,  which  was  installed  forthwith  in  a  little 
chapel  built  for  the  purpose ;  and  this  Virgin  of  Lluch — 
the  Mare  de  Deu  as  she  is  called — became  in  course  of 
time  the  patroness  of  the  Majorcans,  and  a  great  power 
in  the  land.  Bequests  of  money  and  land  were  made  to 
her,  and  in  the  fifteenth  century  the  Oratory  was  founded, 
together  with  a  college  for  the  instruction  of  twelve 
poor  children.  The  original  college  now  forms  the 
hospederia  for  visitors,  having  been  superseded  by  a 
newer  building  where  to  this  day  twelve  boys  receive 
education  and  instruction  in  church  singing  from  the 
four  priests  who  inhabit  the  rectoria. 

The  wants  of  visitors  are  attended  to  by  six  lay  brothers, 
and  at  times  the  resources  of  the  establishment  are 
strained  to  their  utmost.  We  were  told  that  at  Easter 
no  fewer  than  six  hundred  people  had  made  the  pilgrimage 
hither,  coming  from  all  parts  of  the  island  and  staying 
two  or  even  three  nights ;  those  for  whom  there  was  no 
room  in  the  hospederia  were  bedded  in  the  corridors  and 
stables,  while  the  rest  slept  in  their  carts  and  carriages 
outside. 

Until  recently  all  comers  had  to  bring  their  own  food, 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  113 

but  some  few  years  ago  a  kind  of  restaurant — independent 
of  the  monastery — was  established,  where  visitors  can 
get  simple  meals  at  a  very  moderate  charge.  The  wife 
of  the  fondista  cooks  well,  and  though  neither  meat, 
milk,  nor  butter  are  to  be  had,  the  staple  provisions  of 
sausage,  sardines,  cheese,  bread,  coffee,  and  condensed 
milk — with  the  addition  of  a  fowl  or  an  omelette — con- 
stitute a  diet  with  which  any  traveller  may  be  content. 
After  supper  one  crosses  the  great  quadrangle  to  the 
hospederia,  which  contains  some  fifty  beds,  placed  two, 
three,  and  even  four  in  a  room. 

In  answer  to  the  bell  at  the  iron  grille  a  lay  brother 
made  his  appearance  and  took  us  upstairs  and  down  a 
long,  spacious,  echoing  corridor  to  one  of  the  whitewashed 
cells,  where  he  presented  us  with  a  key  and  a  pair  of 
damp  sheets  and  left  us  to  our  own  devices.  The  room 
was  sparsely  furnished,  and  contained  two  beds,  with  a 
pile  of  mattresses  and  blankets,  a  small  table,  a  chair, 
a  diminutive  tripod  supporting  a  basin,  an  equally 
diminutive  towel,  and  an  earthenware  jar  with  some 
water. 

For  the  moment  it  did  not  strike  us  that  we  were 
expected  to  make  our  own  beds,  and  after  waiting  some 
time  we  sent  an  urgent  message  to  our  friar  by  a  young 
man  we  met  on  the  stairs  and  who  seemed  faintly 
amused  at  the  errand.  No  one  came,  however — and 
neither  on  that  nor  on  any  subsequent  occasion  did  Brother 
Bartholomew  condescend  to  attend  to  us  in  any  way 
whatever,  or  even  supply  us  with  more  water,  so  that  on 

9 


114  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

the  second  morning  we  were  reduced  to  a  kind  of  nettoy- 
age  a  sec.  The  only  thing  he  did  for  us  was  to  come  and 
rattle  our  door  loudly  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  to 
make  us  get  up — and  failing  in  his  attempt,  to  go  away, 
having  either  by  accident  or  with  malice  aforethought 
turned  the  key  in  the  door  and  locked  us  in. 

It  was  not  till  breakfast  time  that  we  discovered  our 
plight,  and  we  should  have  been  constrained  ignominiously 
to  call  for  help  from  the  window  had  we  not  succeeded  in 
picking  the  lock  with  a  buttonhook  and  so  regained  our 
freedom. 

At  nine  o'clock  we  set  out  on  our  mules  for  the  Gorch 
Blau,  a  two  hours'  ride  from  the  monastery.  It  is  hope- 
less to  ascertain  beforehand  from  one's  muleteers  the 
nature  of  the  road  that  lies  before  one,  for  they  admit 
no  difference  between  one  mountain  path  and  another, 
and  assure  one  invariably  that  the  road  will  be  good  the 
whole  way ;  nor  are  they  in  any  way  abashed  when 
presently  you  come  to  a  slippery  rock  staircase,  so  im- 
possible that  they  advise  you — in  your  own  interest — to 
dismount  and  proceed  on  foot.  The  ride  to  the  Gorge 
includes,  as  far  as  I  can  remember,  only  one  really 
mauvais  quart  d'heure — but  the  rain  had  converted  the 
paths  into  sloughs,  and  our  poor  men  soon  had  their 
shoes  soaked  through  and  through,  in  spite  of  making 
detours  wherever  possible  to  avoid  the  floods  through 
which  our  mules  splashed  recklessly. 

But  if  all  this  water  increased  the  difficulties  of  the 
march  it  also  added  immensely  to  the  beauty  of  the 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  115 

landscape.  As  we  wound  along  the  heights  we  could 
hear  the  Torrent  de  Pareys  in  its  deep  canon  bed, 
thundering  down  in  flood  to  the  sea,  and  we  found  the 
Gorch  Blau  filled  with  a  rushing  whirl  of  foaming 
emerald- green  water  instead  of  containing — as  it  often 
does — a  supply  so  scanty  as  hardly  to  deserve  the  name 
of  torrent  at  all. 

Towering  fern-clad  cliffs  close  in  upon  a  ravine  a  few 
yards  only  in  width,  through  which  the  water  dashes  at 
racing  speed  with  a  noise  that  prevents  one  from  hearing 
oneself  speak.  An  ancient  pack-bridge  spans  the  stream, 
and  a  path  cut  in  the  side  of  the  water- worn  cliff  leads 
through  the  gorge  into  a  broad  open  valley — a  valley  of 
desolation,  ringed  round  with  walls  of  bare  grey  rock, 
and  strewn  with  innumerable  stones,  amongst  which 
sheep  and  goats  pick  up  a  scanty  living.  For  another 
hour  we  followed  the  course  of  the  stream,  now  flowing 
tranquilly  over  a  pebbly  bed,  and  then  reached  a  spot 
known  as  the  Pla  de  Cuba — a  higher  valley  among  the 
hills,  through  which  runs  the  path  to  Soller,  five  hours 
distant.  Here  we  made  a  two  hours'  halt,  and  while  the 
mules  ate  carob  beans  and  cropped  the  coarse  carritx 
grass  covering  the  hillside,  we  explored  the  rocky  slopes 
in  search  of  the  pink  orchises  and  white  cyclamen  that 
grow  here  in  profusion. 

These  high  regions  have  a  far  larger  annual  rainfall 
than  the  rest  of  the  island,  and  the  comparative  damp- 
ness of  the  atmosphere  is  seen  in  the  mossy  trunks  and 
fern-clad  limbs  of  the  ilex  woods,  as  also  in  the  unusual 


116  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

girth  of  the  trees — one  grand  old  ilex,  said  to  be  the 
largest  tree  in  Majorca,  having  a  diameter  of  fully  eight 
feet. 

Clouds  gather  every  evening  upon  the  mountain  tops 
around  Lluch,  and  the  plateau  itself,  sixteen  hundred 
feet  above  sea-level,  is  often  shrouded  in  fog  for  days 
together.  In  bad  weather  a  stay  at  the  monastery  is  by 
no  means  enjoyable,  and  when  we  woke  on  the  second 
morning  and  found  the  rain  falling  fast,  we  were  not 
sorry  to  think  that  the  galareta  we  had  ordered  from 
Inca  to  fetch  us  would  arrive  in  an  hour  or  so.  Our 
shoes  and  skirts  had  never  dried  thoroughly  since  the 
soaking  they  got  on  our  ride  from  Pollensa,  and  the 
un warmed  rooms  felt  miserably  chilly. 

Going  across  to  the  restaurant,  where  we  breakfasted 
at  an  icy  marble-topped  table,  we  found  four  young 
Frenchmen,  who  had  arrived  overnight,  stamping  their 
feet  on  the  cold  stone  floor  and  bitterly  bewailing  their 
fate ;  they  had  come  with  the  sole  object  of  seeing  the 
Gorch  Blau — and  now,  not  only  was  the  expedition  out 
of  the  question,  but  they  were  imprisoned  in  this  dismal 
place — for  voila!  by  this  frightful  weather  it  was  im- 
possible even  to  depart.  What  to  do  !  Mon  Dieu !  Mon 
Dieu ! 

We  could  offer  little  comfort  beyond  suggesting  that 
some  misguided  visitor  might  turn  up  during  the  morn- 
ing, in  whose  conveyance  they  could  make  their  escape — 
a  contingency  which  both  they  and  we  felt  to  be  very 
unlikely  .  .  .  but  even  as  we  spoke,  we  saw  to  our 


"  The  Pla   de  Cuba  is   a  high   -valley   through  which  runs 
the  mule  path  to  Soller,  five  hours  distant." 

(page  115) 


•'•.:  *'1  :-';  •''•'<:: 

c    *     «        •  •  f , ;  .  »l,   «.    » 


-C-. 

e 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  117 

surprise  two  empty  carriages  cross  the  green  and  draw 
up  before  the  monastery. 

Two  blacks  may  not  make  a  white — but  two  mistakes 
may  result  in  a  remarkably  good  arrangement.  Owing 
to  a  misunderstanding  with  our  late  host  of  Pollensa — 
who,  it  must  be  remembered,  spoke  nothing  but  Majorcan 
— a  g  alar  eta  had  been  sent  up  from  La  Puebla  for  us, 
besides  the  one  which  we  ourselves  had  ordered  from 
Inca.  Behold,  then,  a  solution  of  the  difficulty  !  We 
stowed  ourselves  into  one  carriage — our  four  enchanted 
fellow- visitors  into  the  other — and  away  we  bowled 
towards  Inca,  a  two  hours'  drive  on  a  splendid  road 
engineered  in  giddy  spirals  down  the  mountain  side,  with 
ever  and  again  a  peep  of  the  plain  and  its  white  town  far 
below  us,  seen  through  a  break  in  the  hills. 

As  we  get  down  into  the  zone  of  olives  again,  a 
warmer  air  meets  us — the  rain  has  been  left  behind,  and 
we  are  once  more  in  sunshine ;  passing  the  picturesque 
village  of  Selva,  with  its  church  perched  on  the  very  top 
of  a  hill,  we  soon  find  ourselves  at  Inca — a  large  and 
prosperous-looking  town  of  fine  stone  houses  and  shops. 

Here  we  took  the  train  for  Palma,  and  packed  our- 
selves and  our  valises  into  a  little  first-class  compartment 
which  we  shared  with  an  aristocratic-looking  old  gentle- 
man travelling  with  a  large  wicker  basket,  apparently 
containing  the  week's  wash,  and  with  a  lady  in  a  grace- 
ful black  mantilla,  who  had  a  market  basket,  and  a  big 
bundle  done  up  in  a  check  tablecloth.  She  was  evidently 
leaving  home  for  a  few  days,  and  many  and  anxious  were 


118  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

the  parting  messages  given  to  the  two  honest  servant-girls 
who  stood  at  the  carriage  window  and  with  a  hearty  em- 
brace bade  their  mistress  goodbye  before  the  train  started. 
The  terms  upon  which  master  and  servant  meet  in 
Majorca — and  I  fancy  all  over  Spain — are  very  much 
freer  than  with  us. 


Palma  at  the  end  of  April  is  a  very  different  town  from 
the  Palma  of  a  few  weeks  ago  ;  the  trees  along  the  Borne 
are  greening  fast,  and  the  country  is  a  mass  of  leafage. 
The  swifts  have  arrived,  and  are  wheeling  and  screaming 
over  the  town  in  thousands ;  the  masses  of  dwarf  blue 
iris  by  the  seashore  are  over,  but  the  waist-high  corn  is 
spangled  with  poppies  and  corn  daisies,  gladioli,  and  a 
handsome  crimson  and  yellow  scrophularia.  The  roads 
are  deep  in  dust — -the  river  dry  as  a  bone.  Our  rooms 
maintain  a  steady  temperature  of  66°  Fahrenheit,  and 
the  heat  in  the  middle  of  the  day  is  already  sufficient  to 
make  us  appreciate  the  draughtiness  of  the  cool,  narrow 
streets  of  the  town. 

Palm  Sunday  is  celebrated  by  a  palm  service  in  the 
cathedral,  and  by  a  palm  fair — the  Fiesta  de  Ramos.  At 
the  palm  service  the  bishop,  mitred  and  coped,  and 
accompanied  by  priests,  choristers,  mace-bearers,  and  all 
the  dignitaries  of  the  cathedral,  processes  around  the 
outside  of  the  building — and  all  carry  consecrated  palrn 
branches  in  their  hands.  These  palms  are  afterwards 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca  119 

distributed  amongst  the  townspeople,  who  fasten  them 
to  their  house-fronts  and  balconies  as  a  protection 
against  lightning. 

The  Fiesta  de  Edmos  takes  place  in  the  Kambla,  where 
for  three  days  the  wide  gravelled  walk  is  occupied  by  a 
double  row  of  wooden  booths,  between  which  a  seething 
throng  of  townspeople  streams  up  and  down;  there  are 
toys  and  sweets  and  fruit  stalls — dolls  and  dolls'  furniture, 
and  charming  baskets  of  all  sizes,  down  to  the  familiar 
covered  market  basket  made  in  smallest  miniature  by  the 
neatest  of  fingers;  there  are  merry-go-rounds  and  a 
Japanese  giant,  drums,  trumpets,  and  squeaking  whistles, 
and  for  three  days  there  is  a  pandemonium  of  noisy 
instrumsnts  which  to  the  children  is  the  seventh  heaven 
of  delignt. 

In  the  spring,  too,  the  annual  swearing-in  of  the  new 
recruits  takes  place,  and  is  a  picturesque  sight ;  all  the 
troops  in  the  towrn — cavalry,  infantry,  and  artillery — are 
assembled  on  the  great  Plaza  Santa  Catalina  outside  the 
walls,  where  is  erected  a  large  red  and  yellow  marquee 
surmounted  by  a  royal  crown  and  flanked  by  cannon, 
stacked  rifles,  and  warlike  trophies  of  swords  and 
bayonets.  Inside  the  tent  is  an  altar  with  lighted 
candies,  and  when  all  the  high  civil  and  military 
officiils  of  the  town  have  arrived,  mass  is  celebrated — 
the  elevation  of  the  Host  being  marked  by  three  shrill 
bugb  calls,  at  which  the  whole  body  of  troops  and 
spec;ators  fall  on  one  knee  and  uncover — the  cavalry 
lowering  their  swords. 


120 


With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 


After  this,  a  priest  walks  round  the  lines,  and  halting 
opposite  each  regiment  reads  a  short  address,  at  the  close 
of  which  a  simultaneous  assent  bursts  forth  from  the 
ranks  of  the  new  conscripts.  When  all  have  been  sworn 
in,  the  recruits — who  on  this  occasion  numbered  three  or 
four  hundred — defile  in  front  of  the  colours,  kissing  the 
flag  and  uncovering  as  they  go  by. 

And  with  this  the  ceremony  is  over  for  the  year. 


PART   III 

IVIZA 

THE  small  steamer  that  plies  three  times  a  week 
— weather  permitting — between  Palma  and  the 
island  of  Iviza  does  so  wholly  in  vain  as  far  as  foreign 
visitors  are  concerned.  I  think  if  the  whole  annals  of 
the  Grand  Hotel  were  searched  they  would  hardly  pro- 
duce a  single  record  of  a  stranger  having  gone  to  Iviza, 
or,  if  he  did,  of  having  ever  come  back  to  tell  the  tale. 

It  was  obvious  that  the  only  way  of  finding  out  any- 
thing about  the  island  and  its  inhabitants  was  to  go 
there  ourselves,  and,  prompted  by  curiosity,  we  one  fine 
day  boarded  the  noonday  boat  and  set  forth  on  our 
voyage  of  exploration,  our  only  life-line  a  letter  of 
introduction  to  one  Sebastian  Boig,  keeper  of  the  Fonda 
de  la  Marina  at  Iviza — a  letter  full  of  greeting  and 
amiability,  with  a  civil  postscript  to  the  effect  that  our 
blood  would  be  required  at  his  hands  if  evil  befell  us 
during  our  stay  in  the  island. 

Away  we  went.  Once  outside  the  bay  the  little 
Isleno  rolled  horribly,  and  we  ourselves  remained  pros- 


122  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

trate  below,  till  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  we  felt 
the  boat  come  to  a  standstill  and  heard  the  anchor  being 
let  down;  whereupon  we  arose  and  came  on  deck, 
thinking  that  the  worst  was  over  and  that  we  could  now 
step  on  shore. 

Bitterly  were  we  disappointed  ! 

Neither  quay  nor  shore  was  in  sight,  for  owing  to  the 
rough  sea  we  had  not  been  able  to  enter  the  harbour  at 
all,  but  were  tossing  up  and  down  half  a  mile  from  the 
pier.  It  was  pitch  dark  and  raining  hard.  Some  fisher- 
men in  glistening  oilskins  were  unloading  tunny  from  a 
bobbing,  lateen-sailed  felucca  alongside,  and  we  could 
hear  the  thuds  of  the  stiff,  heavy  fish  being  thrown  on 
board.  The  dim  light  of  a  lantern  fell  upon  a  party  of 
broad-hatted  peasants  collected  on  the  wet  deck,  who 
one  by  one  were  vanishing  over  the  ship's  side  and 
dropping  into  a  cockleshell  of  a  boat  that  pranced  about 
below.  Presently  it  was  full,  and  backing  away  from 
the  steamer  it  disappeared,  with  a  steady  splash  of  oars, 
into  the  darkness. 

Such,  then,  was  to  be  our  landing  at  Iviza  !  For  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  we  waited,  looking  out  at  the  slashing 
rain  and  feeling  so  unutterably  miserable  that,  had  it 
been  possible — even  at  this  eleventh  hour — to  turn  back 
to  Palma,  we  should  assuredly  have  turned.  But  it  was 
not  possible,  as  the  Isleno  was  bound  for  Valencia,  and 
when  the  boat  came  back  for  the  third  time  to  fetch  us 
and  one  native  gentleman — the  only  passengers  left  on 
board — there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  grope  our  way  to 


In  Iviza  123 

the  wet,  slippery  ladder  and  from  thence  to  drop  either 
into  the  tossing  boat,  or,  as  seemed  far  more  probable, 
into  the  sea. 

And  now,  in  this  blackest  moment  of  our  whole 
journey,  appeared  a  deus  ex  machina  in  the  shape  of  the 
aforementioned  senor ;  prompted  by  the  kindness  of  his 
heart,  and  perhaps  not  unmoved  by  the  sight  of  two  very 
forlorn  strangers,  he  took  us  in  charge  and  reassured  us  ; 
there  would  be  no  danger  at  all,  he  said,  if  we  would 
cling  firmly  to  the  chain  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  and 
wait  for  the  boatmen  to  catch  us ;  he  would  tell  them  to 
be  careful,  and  as  for  our  valises,  a  boy  would  come  up 
and  fetch  them  when  we  were  safely  in  the  boat.  He 
helped  us  down  the  swaying  ladder,  and  unseen  arms 
clutched  us  and  dropped  us  on  to  a  seat,  where  we  sat 
down  in  two  large  puddles.  Our  unknown  friend  jumped 
in  after  us,  and  the  silent  oarsmen  pulled  away  from  the 
black  hull  looming  overhead,  and  rowed  us  across  the 
inky,  swirling  water  to  the  quay,  where  a  row  of 
twinkling  lights  along  the  harbour's  edge  heralded  the 
town. 

Landing  at  a  flight  of  steps,  we  paid  the  boatmen 
their  fee  of  two  and  a  half  pesetas,  and  then  splashed 
away  in  mud  and  darkness  to  the  inn,  where  our  new 
acquaintance  left  us  after  promising  to  look  us  up  on 
the  morrow.  Dinner  was  going  on  in  the  big  comedor  on 
the  ground  floor — the  company  consisting  of  a  number 
of  Ivizan  residents  and  some  officers  in  uniform,  with  all 
of  whom  we  exchanged  salutations  as  we  took  our  seats 


124  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

at  the  long  table  d'hote.  Never  was  food  more  welcome 
than  that  set  before  us.  Half  an  hour  later — wet  and 
tired,  but  no  longer  hungry — we  went  upstairs,  and  wrere 
shown  into  a  large  red-tiled  room,  arranged  in  the  Spanish 
fashion  with  two  alcoves,  shut  off  by  glass  doors,  con- 
taining each  an  excellent  bed.  Unpacking  our  valises, 
we  were  soon  fast  asleep,  fully  prepared  to  take  a  more 
cheerful  view  of  things  on  the  morrow. 

But,  alas  and  alas!  when  we  woke  and  went  to  the 
window  the  prospect  was  as  dispiriting  as  ever.  The 
fonda  stood  on  the  very  edge  of  the  water,  and  we  looked 
out  upon  a  landlocked  port  shrouded  in  fog.  It  was  still 
raining,  and  the  leaden  sky  was  merged  into  a  leaden  sea 
spattered  with  raindrops.  A  few  seagulls  drifted  past 
the  window,  uttering  melancholy  cries,  and  the  only  sign 
of  human  life  was  a  solitary  old  woman  who  was  fishing 
patiently  from  her  front  doorstep,  seated  under  a  large 
umbrella. 

At  this  juncture  a  voice  at  the  keyhole  announced 
breakfast,  and  going  out  on  to  the  landing  we  found  tea 
and  hot  buttered  toast  laid  for  us  on  a  little  table.  The 
tea  possessed  in  a  high  degree  the  primary  essential  of 
good  drinking-water — absolute  tastelessness;  but  the 
buttered  toast  was  comforting,  and  as  we  ate  it  we 
discussed  the  situation  seriously. 

Here  we  were  in  Iviza,  with  no  possibility  of  getting 
away  for  the  next  thirty-six  hours,  when  the  Isleno  would 
call  on  her  return  from  Valencia.  The  weather  looked 
hopeless,  but  if  we  were  going  to  allow  ourselves  to  be 


In  Iviza  125 

influenced  by  it  we  should  in  all  probability  end  by  seeing 
nothing  at  all,  and  our  eight  hours'  crossing  would  have 
been  in  vain ;  our  clothes  were  already  so  wet  that  they 
need  not  be  taken  into  account ;  and  after  considering 
all  these  points  we  decided  to  sally  forth  and  look 
about  us. 

Hardly  had  we  defied  the  Fates  when  they  relented. 
The  sky  became  lighter,  the  clouds  began  to  clear  away, 
and  as  we  left  our  inn  a  welcome  gleam  of  sunshine 
broke  out,  at  sight  of  which  all  the  ships  lying  at  anchor 
in  the  harbour  with  one  accord  spread  out  their  wet 
sails  to  dry. 

At  the  end  of  the  mole  a  man  was  fishing  in  the 
shelter  of  the  great  breakwater  some  twenty  feet  in 
height,  and  thinking  that  from  the  summit  we  might 
obtain  a  good  view  of  the  town  we  asked  him  if  there 
was  any  means  of  scaling  it.  Courteously  raising  his  hat, 
he  replied  that  the  senoras  would  find  no  other  escalera 
than  the  broken  end  of  the  breakwater  itself — a  nearly 
vertical  face  of  stone  blocks,  each  the  size  of  a  grand 
piano — which  he  immediately  proceeded  to  climb,  carry- 
ing our  camera  and  tripod  in  one  hand.  With  his  help 
I  also  reached  the  top,  from  whence  a  good  general  view 
of  the  town  is  obtained,  as  well  as  over  the  bay  to  where 
the  pale-grey  silhouette  of  the  distant  lighthouse  divides 
sea  and  sky. 

Very  picturesque  is  Iviza,  massed  high  above  the 
harbour — the  lower  town,  chiefly  inhabited  by  fishing 
folk,  separated  by  a  sharply  marked  line  of  fortification 


126  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

from  the  upper  town,  the  old  Jevitzah  of  the  Moors. 
Crowning  the  highest  point  stands  the  fortified  cathedral, 
built  almost  immediately  after  the  expulsion  of  the 
infidels,  and  adjoining  it  is  the  citadel,  enclosing  within 
its  walls  the  governor's  residence,  and  barracks  for  a 
hundred  men. 

To  the  upper  town  we  presently  ascended,  escorted  by 
our  waiter,  who  had  been  sent  by  our  host — mindful, 
probably,  of  the  postscript  to  our  letter  of  introduction — 
to  attend  us.  Inquisitive  faces  appeared  at  balconies  and 
doorways  as  we  picked  our  way  through  the  narrow, 
muddy  streets  of  the  lower  town.  Purveyors  of  drinking 
water  were  going  from  house  to  house  with  donkey-carts 
laden  with  earthenware  jars ;  scores  of  cats  feasted  on 
remnants  of  fish  in  the  gutter,  and  the  melancholy  Ivizan 
hound  roamed  his  native  alleys  like  some  canine  shade  in 
search  of  the  happy  hunting  grounds.  Crossing  a  draw- 
bridge we  pass  under  the  fortified  gateway  built  in  the 
reign  of  Philip  II. — "  Catholic  and  most  invincible  king 
of  Spain  and  the  East  and  West  Indies  " — and  ascend  by 
a  steep  cobbled  path  to  the  summit  of  the  town.  Many 
of  the  houses  are  extremely  ancient  looking,  and  have 
carved  lintels  and  mullions,  or  the  arms  of  Aragon  cut  in 
stone  upon  their  walls.  Passing  the  prison,  where  a 
bored  official  was  leaning  out  of  the  window  and  yawning 
heavily,  we  entered  the  courtyard  of  the  citadel — after 
giving  up  our  camera  to  the  sentry  on  guard — and  sat 
down  on  a  low  bastion  carpeted  with  sweet  alyssum  to 
enjoy  the  panorama  around  us. 


In  Iviza  127 

From  this  height  Formentara  and  all  the  lesser  rocky 
islets  that  compose  the  Pityusoe  group  are  clearly  dis- 
cerned out  at  sea.  The  general  aspect  of  Iviza  itself  is 
that  of  low,  wooded  hills.  Cutting  straight  across  the 
island  is  the  long  white  road  leading  to  St.  Antonio  on 
the  western  coast,  twelve  miles  distant,  and  some  six  miles 
to  the  south  of  us  glisten  the  great  salt  works,  the  famous 
salinas  of  Iviza. 

To  St.  Antonio  we  drove  in  the  afternoon.  It  was 
Holy  Week,  during  which  no  carriage  is  allowed  to  enter 
the  town,  and  we  had  to  walk  out  to  the  end  of  the  street 
where  a  little  carreta  awaited  us;  it  was  driven  by  a 
comic  looking  countryman,  and  drawn  by  a  spirited  little 
grey  horse,  a  caballo  de  carrera,  one  of  the  racing  trotters 
for  which  the  islanders  have  a  great  partiality.  Packed 
into  this  small  and  fragile  conveyance,  the  driver  and 
our  invaluable  waiter  in  front,  ourselves  squeezed  into 
the  little  side-seats  behind,  with  every  symptom  of 
approaching  cramp,  we  announced  ourselves  ready  to 
start. 

Skirting  the  town  we  struck  inland  along  a  broad  and 
splendid  road,  which  for  the  first  few  miles  is  compara- 
tively flat  and  then  rises  to  a  kind  of  table-land  in  the 
centre  of  the  island,  to  fall  away  again  towards  the 
further  coast.  The  plain  is  thick  with  olive  groves, 
date  palms,  fig  and  almond  orchards.  Snow-white  houses 
nestle  amongst  dark  clumps  of  pines — flat-roofed, 
oriental-looking  houses  that  resemble  great  cubes  of 
chalk,  with  an  arcade  of  roundheaded  arches  opening  into 


128  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

a  court  on  the  ground  floor,  and  above  this  a  broad,  open 
gallery  where  the  inhabitants  can  sit  during  the  noonday 
heat.  This  windowless  form  of  architecture  is  a  legacy 
of  the  Moors,  and  the  Ivizan  peasants  are  said  to  have 
preserved  the  characteristics  of  their  Moorish  prede- 
cessors to  a  higher  degree  than  the  inhabitants  of  either 
of  the  sister  isles  have  done.  The  town-dweller  or 
fisherman  of  Iviza — generally  of  Spanish  extraction — is 
said  to  draw  a  sharp  distinction  between  himself  and  the 
peasants  of  the  interior,  whom  he  looks  upon  as  semi- 
barbarians.  Their  boats  are  a  subject  of  great  merriment 
to  him,  and  he  makes  a  point  of  laughing  heartily  if  he 
meets  a  party  of  country-folk  afloat. 

"  At  sea,"  says  the  fisherman,  "  I  have  no  fear  of  the 
peasants — but  ashore !  they  are  worse  than  the  Moors  !  " 

With  a  character  for  being  turbulent,  hot-tempered, 
and  ill-educated,  the  Ivizans  present  a  great  contrast  to 
the  mild  Majorcans.  Murders  are  not  infrequent  among 
them,  the  almost  invariable  cause  being  a  quarrel  over 
cards  or  the  jealousy  of  rival  suitors. 

Poor  and  proud,  the  peasants  look  with  scant  favour  on 
any  member  of  their  community  who  may  have  grown 
rich  and  who  sets  up  to  be  a  person  of  consequence  on 
that  account.  "  Heaven  preserve  us,"  says  the  Ivizan, 
"  from  the  shoe  that  has  become  a  boot !  "  There  are  no 
really  wealthy  families  in  the  island,  and  outside  the 
capital  we  saw  no  good  houses.  The  ground  is  far  less 
highly  cultivated  than  the  Majorcan  plains,  and  Dame 
Nature  asserts  herself  in  a  wealth  of  wild  flowers;  the 


In  Iviza  129 

fields  are  red  with  poppies  and  blue  with  grape-hyacinths, 
and  on  either  side  of  the  road  runs  a  brilliant  border  com- 
posed of  pink  tufts  of  allium  swaying  on  slender  stalks, 
pale  dandelions,  dwarf  iris,  charlock,  red  dwarf  ranunculus, 
small  yellow  cistus  and  a  bright  blue  borage.  As  the 
road  rises  we  drive  through  undulating  slopes  where  the 
juniper  and  various  conifers  grow.  The  hillsides  are 
covered  with  the  maritime  pine — whence  the  islands 
derived  their  old  name  of  Pine  islands — and  large  open 
stretches  of  uncultivated  ground,  intersected  by  rough 
walls  of  reddish  stone,  are  given  up  to  the  great  fennel, 
seen  here  for  the  first  time,  heath,  asphodel,  pink  and 
white  cistus,  and  many  other  shrubs. 

All  this  is  very  unlike  a  Majorcan  landscape,  but  still 
more  striking  are  the  parties  of  country  folk  that  we  meet 
upon  the  road.  It  is  a  fete  day,  and  every  one  is  in 
grande  tenue ;  whole  families  are  coming  to  the  town  or 
walking  back  to  their  villages — bouquets  of  bright  colour, 
purple,  blue,  yellow,  pink,  green,  and  red — quaint  figures, 
such  as  one  dimly  remembers  having  met  with  in  bygone 
days  on  nursery  plates,  and  having  accepted  as  truthful 
representations  of  that  romantic  race — the  foreign  peasant. 
Here  they  all  were  as  large  as  life. 

The  women  wear  a  dark  bodice  with  long  sleeves,  over 
which  is  folded  a  shawl  with  a  border  of  gay-coloured 
embroidery  worked  on  black  silk.  The  skirt  is  immensely 
full,  and  often  accordion-pleated,  and  it  is  worn  over  half 
a  dozen  petticoats  which  distend  it  to  the  dimensions  of  a 
crinoline,  and  make  the  wearer  look  high  waisted  and 

10 


130  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

very  stout.  It  is  cut  short  in  front,  to  display  six  inches 
of  red  or  pink  underskirt  ornamented  with  scrolls  of  black 
braid,  and  on  top  of  all  comes  a  very  short  bright-coloured 
apron,  which  gives  the  women  a  three-decker  appearance. 
The  hair  is  worn  in  a  plait  down  the  back  and  smoothly 
parted  on  the  forehead,  the  headkerchief  being  often 
embroidered  with  gay  silk  flowers.  A  heavy  gold  chain 
is  sometimes  worn  round  the  neck,  and  the  shoes  are  of 
white  canvas  and  resemble  Moorish  slippers,  being  turned 
up  in  a  point  at  the  toe. 

The  men  are  hardly  less  picturesque.  Their  velveteen 
trousers  of  peacock-blue,  brown,  or  purple  are  cut  tight 
at  the  knee  and  spreading  at  the  foot,  like  those  of  our 
costers  or  sailors.  The  coat  of  dark-blue  cotton  is  very 
short  and  shaped  something  like  a  blouse,  being  gathered 
into  pleats  at  the  collar  and  hanging  loose  and  full  all 
round.  They  wear  a  white  shirt  with  a  vivid  pink  or 
blue  sash,  a  broad-brimmed  felt  hat  with  ribbons  hanging 
down  behind,  and  their  costume  is  completed  by  a  fringed 
shawl  in  red  and  green  plaid  which  they  hang  round  their 
neck. 

The  little  girls  are  precise  replicas  of  their  mothers — 
long  skirt,  apron,  headkerchief  and  all — so  that  at  a  dis- 
tance it  is  impossible  to  say  whether  it  is  a  party  of 
children  or  of  women  coming  towards  one,  and  it  was 
often  a  surprise  to  see  a  small  matronly  figure  skip  sud- 
denly across  a  ditch  with  an  agility  beyond  her  apparent 
years. 

When  we  reached   St.   Antonio,   a  village    of    clean 


"  It  is  a  fete-day,  and  the  I-uizan  peasants  are  all  en  grande 
tenue    .    .    ."' 

(page  130), 


In  Iviza  131 

whitewashed  houses,  with  reefs  of  bedrock  cropping  up 
in  the  streets,  we  got  out  our  camera,  and  were  soon 
surrounded  by  a  friendly  group  of  peasants  fully  as  much 
interested  in  our  appearance  as  we  were  in  theirs.  Yet 
in  no  way  did  their  curiosity  get  the  better  of  their 
manners.  "We  found  them  quite  willing  to  be  photo- 
graphed if  we  wished  it,  but  the  posing  of  a  group  was 
unaccompanied  by  any  of  the  bashful  giggling  with  which 
our  own  yokels  would  meet  such  a  request  coming  from  a 
foreigner.  Earnest  and  dignified,  quite  devoid  of  self- 
consciousness,  and  not  easily  moved  to  mirth,  the  Ivizans 
struck  us  as  the  most  perfect-mannered  people  we  had 
yet  met. 

The  mere  fact  of  our  being  English  was  a  great  recom- 
mendation in  the  eyes  of  the  natives,  for  the  forthcoming 
marriage  of  King  Alfonso  with  an  English  princess  was 
of  course  the  topic  of  the  day,  and  all  classes  were  equally 
delighted  with  the  match.  As  compatriots  of  their  future 
Queen  we  therefore  met  with  an  unusually  favourable 
reception,  and  though  I  am  sure  none  of  the  peasants 
had  the  remotest  idea  where  England  was  situated  we 
found  a  great  bond  of  union  to  consist  in  the  fact  that 
both  we  and  they  lived  on  an  island. 

Many  were  the ,  questions  we  had  to  answer — Did  one 
reach  England  before  getting  to  America  ?  Was  England 
far  from  London  ? 

One  man  left  his  plough  to  come  and  tell  us  that  he 
liked  the  English  very  much,  which  was  a  little  surprising 
when  one  considered  that  till  that  moment  he  had  prob- 


132  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

ably  never  set  eyes  on  any  one  of  our  nationality.  We 
heard  subsequently,  however,  that  some  years  ago  an 
Englishman  hailing  from  Birmingham  had  stayed  in  the 
island,  and  though,  to  our  host's  surprise,  we  could  not 
supply  the  unknown  traveller's  name,  we  were  shown  an 
unmistakable  proof  of  his  visit  in  the  form  of  an  English 
book — the  only  existing  specimen  in  Iviza. 

We  got  back  to  our  inn  in  time  for  dinner,  and  found 
the  same  company  again  assembled  at  table.  The  Fonda 
de  la  Marina  is  the  fashionable  restaurant  of  the  town, 
and  it  caters  for  a  considerable  clientele  among  the  resi- 
dents in  addition  to  its  own  guests.  The  cookery  was 
doubtless  excellent,  but  the  dishes  were  so  wholly  native 
in  character  that  we  perhaps  failed  to  appreciate  them  as 
fully  as  did  our  fellow  convives.  During  Holy  Week 
the  fare  is  maigre,  and  our  menu  that  night  was  the 
following : — 

A  tureen-full  of  shellfish,  stewed — shells  and  all — with 
rice  and  fragments  of  lobster. 

A  mess  of  pottage,  very  thick,  containing  white  beans 
and  cabbage. 

Another  mess— chunks  of  salt  cod,  with  eggs,  potatoes 
and  peas. 

Whole  fishes,  boiled,  with  yellow  sauce. 

A  sweet  cake. 

Cheese,  raisins,  and  oranges. 


In  Iviza  133 

The  following  morning  we  drove  to  Santa  Eulalia. 
There  are  only  two  really  firstrate  roads  in  Iviza — one  to 
Sant  Antonio,  the  twelve-mile  drive  we  had  already  taken, 
the  other — slightly  longer — to  San  Juan,  at  the  north- 
eastern extremity  of  the  island ;  it  was  in  this  direction 
that  we  set  off  at  eight  o'clock. 

The  view  of  the  town  as  we  skirted  the  harbour  was 
extremely  striking.  The  great  sails  of  the  merchantmen 
lying  at  anchor  in  the  bay  shone  white  against  the  deep 
blue  sea  beyond,  and  the  low  sun  was  catching  the  angles 
of  the  fortifications  and  casting  cobalt  shadows  upon  the 
snowy,  irregular  houses  clustering  upon  the  hill  crowned 
by  the  campanile  of  the  cathedral.  Market  folk  were 
coming  into  town — countrywomen  in  broad  be-ribboned 
hats  of  palmito  plait,  mounted  on  mules  and  donkeys 
with  laden  panniers — a  sight  never  seen  in  Majorca. 
Innumerable  frogs  croaked  with  jangling  grotesque 
jollity  from  hidden  reservoirs  in  the  rich  huerta,  or 
garden,  of  vines  and  almonds,  beans  and  wheat,  through 
which  we  were  driving.  Presently  the  road  rises,  and 
winds  through  pretty  wooded  slopes  and  copses  of 
conifers.  Here  and  there  are  stacked  great  heaps  of 
pine  bark,  used  for  tanning  the  fishing  nets.  Sheep  seek 
invisible  sustenance  upon  stony  red  ground,  and  young 
pigs  sport  in  the  shade  of  budding  fig-trees,  the  prevailing 
principle  seeming  to  be  to  turn  beasts  out  to  graze 
wherever  they  will  do  the  least  harm. 

Turning  aside  from  the  main  road  we  take  a  rough 
track  leading  down  to  the  coast.  Very  Corot-like  is  the 


134  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

landscape  before  us,  framed  by  the  stems  of  gnarled  olive 
or  dark  knotted  carob.  On  a  small  eminence  by  the  sea- 
shore stands  Santa  Eulalia — a  frankly  oriental-looking 
village  of  blank  white  walls  and  blue  shadows,  ringed 
round  with  a  fence  of  prickly  pear.  By  a  steep  zigzag 
path  one  climbs  to  the  old  fortress-church  upon  the 
summit,  and  enters  the  building  through  an  immense 
vaulted  and  enclosed  crypt-like  porch,  supported  on 
massive  pillars  and  capable  of  holding  a  couple  of 
hundred  people.  In  the  Middle  Ages  this  church,  like 
most  of  those  in  the  island,  formed  the  stronghold  of  the 
villagers  during  the  frequent  piratical  raids,  and  inside 
the  porch  is  the  well  from  which  the  besieged  drew  their 
water  supply. 

Stepping  through  a  side  door  one  enters  the  cemetery 
—  a  tiny  enclosure  upon  the  hillside,  with  nameless 
wooden  crosses  half  buried  in  grass  and  a  tangle  of 
yellow  daisies.  Here  the  dead  lie,  under  sunshine  and 
sea-breezes  —  and  from  here  the  eye  ranges  far  over  land 
and  sea,  over  wooded  hills,  undulating  red  plains,  palm- 
trees  and  rocky  islets.  Commenting  upon  the  beauty  of 
the  scene  to  our  faithful  waiter,  he  admitted  that  it  was 
indeed  a  precious  one — a  complimentary  term  which  he 
applied  indiscriminately  to  views,  roads,  the  weather,  or 
the  condition  of  the  sea — but  far  more  precious,  he 
hastened  to  assure  us,  would  be  the  sight  of  the  river 
which  we  should  presently  be  vouchsafed. 

The  river  was  unfortunately  not  looking  its  best,  being 
very  nearly  dry;  but  we  duly  inspected  its  rocky  bed, 


In  Iviza  135 

fringed  with  oleander  and  dotted  with  water  pools,  and 
expressed  our  admiration  of  the  fine  stone  bridge  that 
spans  it.  The  pride  with  which  the  natives  regard  their 
Bio  de  Santa  Euldlia  is  due  to  the  fact  that  it  is  the  only 
river  in  the  island. 

We  went  back  to  Iviza  at  racing  speed,  the  little  horse 
trotting  fifteen  miles  an  hour  on  the  flat,  and  straining 
every  nerve  to  raise  his  average.  We  feared  that  it  would 
over  tire  him  to  take  us  to  the  Salt  Works  in  the  after- 
noon, but  his  owner  laughed  at  the  idea,  and  assured  us 
that  the  good  little  beast  would  be  quite  ready  to  start 
again  after  a  two  hours'  rest.  We  were  somewhat 
amused  when,  at  the  end  of  our  stay,  we  received  the  bill 
for  our  three  long  drives — a  bill  for  fifteen  pesetas,  exactly 
the  sum  that  we  should  have  paid  for  a  half-day's  excur- 
sion at  Palma,  where  carriage  hire  is  by  no  means  cheap. 

' '  The  donkey  makes  out  a  different  bill  from  the 
driver,"  says  a  Minorcan  proverb,  and  whether  our  little 
horse  considered  his  three  silver  douros  an  adequate 
compensation  for  the  work  he  had  done  I  cannot  say — but 
his  owner  was  completely  satisfied.  The  Ivizans  are  as 
yet — and  long  may  they  remain  so  !  — too  unsophisticated 
to  charge  special  prices  to  a  foreigner.  A  striking  in- 
stance of  their  natural  honesty  occurred  on  the  night  of 
our  arrival.  I  had  given  a  peseta  to  the  sailor  lad  who 
had  brought  down  our  luggage  from  the  deck  of  the  Isleno 
and  put  it  into  the  boat,  and  to  my  surprise  he  handed 
me  back  the  coin  at  once.  Thinking  that  it  was  either  a 
bad  one,  or  that  he  expected  more,  I  asked  our  friend  who 


136  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

was  with  us  in  the  boat,  what  I  ought  to  give ;  but  he 
replied  that  the  boy  had  already  received  threepence  from 
himself  for  carrying  the  luggage,  that  nothing  further  was 
expected,  and  that  the  peseta  had  been  returned  because 
it  was  considered  too  much. 

Our  third  and  last  expedition  in  Iviza  was  destined  to 
be  the  most  enjoyable  of  all.  Our  kind  friend — whom  we 
found  to  be  one  of  the  municipal  officials  of  the  town — 
volunteered  to  accompany  us  to  the  Salt  Works,  and  en 
passant  to  show  us  the  recently-discovered  Phoenician 
necropolis,  in  the  excavation  of  which  he  was  deeply 
interested.  Although  it  had  long  been  known  that  the 
Phoenicians  colonised  the  Balearics — the  very  name  of 
the  islands  being  derived,  as  some  think,  from  their  god 
Baal — it  is  only  of  late  years  that  actual  proofs  of  their 
occupation  have  been  obtained.  Iviza  was  said  to  have 
remained  under  their  sway  for  a  thousand  years,  and  to 
have  had  a  capital  with  a  population  of  a  hundred 
thousand  souls,  and  the  Phoenician  cemetery  which  three 
years  ago  was  discovered  just  outside  the  town  goes  far  to 
substantiate  this  theory. 

Alighting  from  our  carreta  at  the  foot  of  a  rocky  reef 
immediately  to  the  south  of  the  town,  we  climbed  the 
hillside  and  reached  a  grove  of  ancient  olive-trees  growing 
in  the  crevices  of  a  great  granite  outcrop.  The  whole 
hillside  is  honeycombed  with  rock  tombs  —  they  are 
everywhere,  on  the  hill,  and  on  the  lower  ground — filled 
in  with  earth,  built  over,  planted  over;  it  is  the  burial 
ground  of  a  nation.  More  than  a  thousand  tornbs  have 


In  Iviza  137 

already  been  located,  and  of  these  some  sixty  have  been 
investigated  at  the  cost  of  two  or  three  Ivizan  gentlemen 
who  are  interested  in  the  subject. 

The  general  type  of  tomb  is  an  oblong  hole  or  shaft,  cut 
in  the  live  rock  and  descending  to  a  depth  of  six  to  eight 
feet,  whence  a  low  sloping  gallery  leads  to  the  subterranean 
burial  chamber.  Each  chamber  contains  one,  two,  or 
even  three  massive  stone  sarcophagi,  made  from  a  kind  of 
white  limestone  found  on  the  neighbouring  island  of 
Formentara.  Not  a  tomb  has  yet  been  opened  but  what 
it  has  already  been  violated — it  is  presumed  by  the 
Vandals.  The  heavy  sarcophagus  lids  have  been  pushed 
aside  or  broken,  and  any  contents  of  value — if  such  there 
were — long  ago  abstracted.  But  of  what  the  Vandals 
overlooked  or  despised,  there  yet  remains  enough  to  rejoice 
the  heart  of  an  archaeologist,  and  a  small  museum  has 
already  been  created  in  Iviza  for  the  reception  of  the  finds 
as  the  work  of  excavation  goes  on.  Bones  and  skulls, 
once  clothed  in  Tyrian  purple  and  fine  linen,  are  collected 
and  ranged  neatly  upon  shelves.  Hundreds  of  amphorae 
are  found,  each  sarcophagus  containing  two,  placed  in  a 
depression  at  the  feet  of  the  dead,  while  others  seem 
to  have  served  as  cinerary  urns  for  the  remains  of 
children. 

There  is  a  large  collection  of  red  pottery — busts, 
statuettes,  and  masks — some  of  the  latter  with  an 
Egyptian  cast  of  countenance,  others  of  a  comic  type 
with  glass  or  metal  rings  in  the  nose.  There  are  some 
beautiful  tear-bottles  of  iridescent  glass,  coloured  with 


138  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

metallic  oxides,  and  delicate  pottery  jars  for  ointment. 
There  are  shallow  open  oil  lamps,  shaped  like  a  shell, 
and  bronze  rings  and  seals.  That  very  day  the  workmen 
had  unearthed  a  pretty  ram's  head  with  curling  horns, 
of  fragile  white  earthenware,  which  our  friend  showed 
us.  He  also  had  in  his  possession  what  I  should  sup- 
pose to  be  the  most  valuable  find  yet  made — an 
engraved  scarab  of  dark  green  haematite,  comprising 
on  its  tiny  surface  the  figure  of  a  man  on  horseback, 
with  a  spear  in  his  hand  and  a  dog  by  his  side,  the 
whole  cat  with  the  delicacy  of  the  finest  intaglio. 

No  inscriptions  have  as  yet  come  to  light,  but  as  each 
tomb  is  opened  the  hope  revives  that  it  may  prove  to  be 
in  an  unrifled  condition  and  contain  something  that  may 
throw  a  fresh  light  upon  the  burial  customs  of  a  long- 
vanished  people.  An  illustrated  pamphlet  dealing  with 
the  Ivizan  discoveries  up  to  the  present  was  in  process 
of  preparation  at  the  time  of  our  visit,  and  I  much  regret 
not  having  received  a  copy  in  time  to  acquaint  my  reader 
with  fuller  details  regarding  this  necropolis  than  we  were 
able  to  gather  during  our  very  brief  stay. 

Continuing  our  drive  to  the  Salt  Works,  we  pass  the 
old  fortified  church  of  San  Jorge,  standing  alone  amongst 
the  fields,  its  battlemented  walls  glistening  snow-white 
against  the  distant  hills.  This  church  was  built  in  the 
fourteenth  century,  and  has  withstood  many  an  assault 
by  the  Moors. 

Another  hour,  over  a  ludicrously  bad  road,  brings  us  to 
the  low-lying  Salinas  near  the  coast ;  one  might  almost 


co 

e  a 

^  5 


S'5 


o  ^ 


In  Iviza  139 

fancy  oneself  in  a  miniature  Switzerland,  for  these  salt- 
pans— which  are  said  to  have  been  known  to  the 
Phoenicians — cover  an  area  of  six  square  miles,  and 
resemble  inland  lakes  in  whose  unruffled  surface  the 
surrounding  hills  are  mirrored.  There  are  thirteen 
great  estancos  or  shallow  basins,  fringed  with  glittering 
salt-crystals  and  intersected  by  sea-water  canals,  and 
causeways  along  which  a  little  train  puffs  breathlessly 
towards  the  shining  islands  of  salt  stacked  on  stone 
platforms  in  the  water ;  filling  its  trucks — each  of  which 
contains  a  ton — it  hurries  back  to  the  embarking  station, 
and  pulling  up  on  a  staging  running  out  into  the  sea, 
tips  its  load  down  a  wooden  shoot  into  a  barge  below, 
where  bare-legged  men — half  salted  up — are  busy  level- 
ling the  white  mound,  and  presently  convey  it  to  a  big 
Norwegian  steamer  lying  in  the  harbour.  Other  salt 
boats  are  bound  for  Russia,  or  for  America.  One  would 
think  there  was  enough  salt  to  supply  the  whole  world ; 
it  lies  in  deep  snowdrifts  on  the  quay  and  is  piled  up  into 
mountains  by  men  who  look  like  black  flies  beside  it. 
The  busiest  time  is  during  the  summer,  when  the  water 
in  the  shallow  basins  evaporates  and  the  deposited  salt 
is  collected,  but  at  that  season  the  locality  is  considered 
unhealthy — the  combined  heat  and  moisture  breeding 
malaria  and  a  plague  of  mosquitoes. 

By  evening  light  the  Salinas  are  very  beautiful.  The 
colours  of  the  sunset  are  repeated  in  the  water,  and  the 
dark  banks  and  rushes  stand  out  in  sharp-cut  silhouette 
against  the  soft  purple  of  the  hills  around.  Out  at  sea 


140  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

rises  the  double  fang  of  the  island  rock  Detra — an 
inaccessible  pinnacle,  in  the  summit  of  which  the  wild 
bees  have  nested  from  time  immemorial ;  the  whole  rock 
is  said  to  be  sticky  with  honey,  which  at  times  descends 
in  rivulets  even  to  the  water's  edge. 

It  was  dusk  when  we  regained  our  inn,  and  at  ten 
o'clock  that  same  night  the  red  lights  of  the  Isleno  were 
seen  gliding  into  the  bay,  and  we  were  summoned  to  go 
on  board.  Taking  leave  of  our  most  kind  friend — who, 
not  content  with  having  done  the  honours  of  his  native 
island,  insisted  upon  our  accepting  some  charming 
Phoenician  relics  as  souvenirs  of  our  stay — we  went 
down  to  the  quay  and  were  seen  off  by  our  host  and 
the  faithful  waiter,  the  latter  remarking,  as  he  shook 
hands  with  us,  that  we  might  safely  rely  upon  the 
night  being  a  precious  one. 

The  sea  was  indeed  like  glass.  The  little  steamer  lay 
within  fifty  yards  of  the  shore,  and  not  a  ripple  stirred 
as  we  were  rowed  across  in  company  with  a  tunny  boat 
just  in  from  Formentara — the  fish  standing  on  their 
heads  in  baskets  on  the  deck,  their  big  tails  sticking 
up  like  ammunition  for  some  torpedo  boat.  On  an  even 
keel  we  glided  out  into  the  night,  and  awoke  at  five  the 
next  morning  to  see  the  red  watch  tower  of  Porto  Pi 
slip  past  the  port  hole.  A  fiery  dawn  was  breaking  over 
Palma  as  we  went  on  shore ;  half  a  silver  moon  hung 
in  the  sky,  and  the  masts  and  rigging  of  the  shipping 
in  the  harbour  were  cut  like  a  fine  etching  against  the 
colourless  mass  of  the  town, 


In  Iviza  141 

Even  at  this  early  hour  the  day's  work  had  begun ; 
scavengers'  carts  were  going  their  rounds ;  yawning 
octroi  men  were  astir;  women  were  already  fetching 
water  from  the  tortoise-fountain  on  the  Borne,  and  as 
we  reached  the  hotel  a  belated  watchman  was  making 
off  with  lantern  and  staff,  to  hide  in  some  quiet  retreat 
till  dusk  again  brought  him  out  to  his  bat-like  life. 

Our  visit  to  Iviza  was  already  a  thing  of  the  past,  but 
the  little  island  that  had  before  been  only  a  name  to  us 
was  now  a  very  definite  memory  of  pleasant  days  spent 
in  the  open  air,  of  friendly  and  picturesque  natives, 
of  sunshine  and  charming  scenery  —  while  even  our 
unpropitious  landing  had  turned  out  to  be  a  blessing 
in  disguise,  in  acquainting  us  with  the  resident  whose 
kindness  contributed  so  largely  to  the  pleasant  recol- 
lections which  we  shall  always  retain  of  our  stay 
in  Iviza. 


PART  IV 

MINORCA 

APBIL  was  now  nearly  over  and  our  holiday  in  the 
Balearics  was  drawing  to  its  close.  We  had  seen 
Majorca  pretty  thoroughly,  we  had  had  a  charming 
glimpse  of  Iviza,  and  it  only  remained  to  spend  a  few 
days  in  Minorca  to  complete  our  tour  of  the  islands.  For 
fifty  pesetas  two  first-class  passages  were  secured  for  us 
on  the  Isla  de  Menorca,  leaving  Palma  on  April  26th,  and 
at  half-past  six  that  evening  we  went  on  board,  prepared 
to  endure  the  eleven  hours'  crossing  to  Port  Mahon. 

To  the  last  it  was  doubtful  whether  the  boat  would 
start  that  night ;  a  high  west  wind  was  blowing,  the 
bay  was  flecked  with  white  horses,  and  the  clothes 
hung  out  on  the  housetops  were  clapping  wildly,  as  if 
in  exultation.  But  start  we  eventually  did  —  perhaps 
owing  to  the  fact  that  the  Governor  of  the  Balearics 
was  on  board,  a  personage  of  sufficient  importance  to 
allay  any  apprehension  on  our  part  as  to  the  voyage, 
and  indeed  to  act  as  a  practical  guarantee  of  safety, 

since,   though    the    wind   and    the    waves  may  be    no 

142 


In  Minorca  143 

respecters  of  persons,  it  remains  an  undoubted  fact 
that  governors  of  provinces  get  drowned  far  less  fre- 
quently than  do  obscure  individuals. 

At  half-past  five  the  following  morning  we  entered 
the  famous  Minorcan  port,  and  steamed  up  it  for  three 
miles  before  sighting  Mahon,  which  occupies  a  com- 
manding position  on  the  edge  of  the  precipitous  rock 
walls  of  the  harbour.  Disembarking  at  a  little  quay 
below  the  town,  we  confided  our  valises  to  a  porter 
and  followed  him  up  a  steep,  cobbled  street  to  the  Hotel 
Bustamante,  a  very  respectable  inn  in  the  higher  quarter, 
where  we  were  promptly  accommodated  with  rooms  and 
board  at  a  pension  of  six  pesetas  a  day. 

Seen  at  close  quarters,  Mahon  is  singularly  unin- 
teresting and  commonplace.  If  the  architecture  of 
Palma  is  essentially  Spanish,  and  that  of  Iviza  Moorish, 
Mahon  must  be  put  down  as  painfully  and  typically 
English.  The  long,  straight  streets  of  ugly  houses, 
without  balconies  or  outside  shutters,  the  dreary  vistas 
of  grey  gobbles  and  foot  pavements  recall  the  outskirts 
of  one  of  our  own  manufacturing  towns ;  there  are  the 
same  mean-looking  painted  street  doors,  the  same  sash 
windows,  even  the  same  lace  curtains  inside.  We  were 
shown  the  exercise  ground,  with  its  row  of  British-built 
barracks,  the  hideous  Paseo,  or  Promenade,  which 
resembles  a  cinder  track,  and  the  favourite  drive  along 
the  harbour,  a  dismally  unattractive  road.  The  sole 
trace  of  the  picturesque  that  the  town  can  lay  claim  to 
consists  of  one  small  fragment  of  the  old  fortifications 


144  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

that  spans  a  modern  street — a  turreted  archway  known 
as  Barbarossa's  Gate,  in  memory  of  the  corsair  who 
sacked  the  city  in  the  sixteenth  century. 

The  inhabitants  of  Mahon  share  the  general  common- 
placeness  of  their  surroundings.  They  have  neither  the 
dignified  bearing  of  the  Majorcans  nor  their  good  looks ; 
the  men  are  not  clean  shaven  like  those  of  the  other 
islands,  but  wear  beards,  and  sometimes  whiskers.  The 
style  of  dress  is  also  very  inferior,  and  here  and  there 
we  met  with  signs  of  actual  untidiness  among  the 
women — frowsy  heads  and  ill-fitting  blouses,  such  as  we 
had  not  set  eyes  on  since  landing  in  the  Balearics. 

Something  of  this  lack  of  personal  neatness  may 
perhaps  be  set  down  to  the  tempestuous  winds  from 
which  Mahon  suffers  almost  perpetually,  and  which 
nearly  tore  our  hats  from  our  heads  and  our  clothes 
from  our  backs  as  we  drove  out  towards  the  mouth  of 
the  harbour  to  visit  the  ruined  fortress  of  San  Felipe. 
San  Felipe  is  a  strong  position  commanding  the  approach 
to  Port  Mahon  upon  the  southern  side,  and  it  played 
an  important  part  in  the  English  occupation  of  Minorca. 
Twice  captured  by  the  British  and  twice  retaken,  it 
fell  for  the  second  time  in  the  year  1782,  when  General 
Murray  was  forced  to  capitulate  to  a  combined  French 
and  Spanish  force  under  De  Crillon,  after  a  long  and 
tedious  siege  which  the  allies  had  hoped  to  avoid  by  the 
offer  of  a  bribe  of  £100,000  to  the  English  general. 

It  was  during  this  siege  that  the  cook  of  the  Due  de 
Crillon  earned  for  himself  undying  fame  by  inventing  as 


In  Minorca  145 

an  adjunct  to  his  master's  salads  the  sauce  termed 
Mahonnaise — the  familiar  mayonnaise  of  all  cookery 
books  to  come. 

We  had  hoped  to  find  objects  of  pictorial  as  well  as 
sentimental  value  among  the  ruined  fortifications,  rock 
galleries,  and  nameless  British  graves  at  San  Felipe, 
of  which  the  guide  book  speaks,  but  our  hopes  were 
destined  to  be  rudely  dashed,  for  after  a  most  uninterest- 
ing drive  of  a  couple  of  miles  between  untidy  stone  walls 
we  were  unceremoniously  stopped  by  a  sentry,  who 
informed  us  that  no  one  was  allowed  to  approach  the 
fort  without  a  permit  from  the  commandant  of  Mahon. 
For  our  consolation  he  added  that  in  any  case  there 
was  nothing  to  be  seen,  as  the  ruins  of  the  old  fort 
had  been  replaced  by  modern  defence  works.  A  more 
unpicturesque  scene  could  indeed  hardly  be  imagined 
than  the  site  of  San  Felipe  now  presents — a  bleak  head- 
land traversed  by  long  lines  of  masonry  and  intersecting 
trenches,  with  grass-grown  embankments  sloping  down 
to  the  old  sea  wall  on  the  side  of  the  harbour,  from 
whence  one  looks  across  to  the  new  fortress  built  on  the 
opposite  peninsula. 

Disappointed,  we  retraced  our  steps.  It  was  now 
evident  that  neither  Mahon  nor  its  immediate  surround- 
ings would  produce  anything  that  need  detain  us  in 
the  town,  and  we  decided  to  set  out  without  further 
delay  in  search  of  those  relics  of  a  far  older  occupation 
than  that  of  the  British — the  menhirs  and  dolmens  of  a 
pre-historic  race, 

11 


146  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

These  megalithic  remains — of  which  there  are  said 
to  be  some  two  hundred  groups  in  all — are  found 
scattered  over  the  whole  of  the  southern  half  of  the 
island  ;  but  the  average  traveller  will  be  wise  to  confine 
himself  to  those  specimens  only  which  present  most 
perfectly  the  different  types  of  monument  erected,  i.e., 
the  tumulus  or  talayot,  the  altar,  the  enclosure  of 
monoliths,  and  the  megalithic  dwelling.  Some  of  the 
finest  specimens  of  all  occur  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Mahon  itself,  and  can  be  visited  in  the  course  of  a  drive 
extending  over  some  four  hours.  Acting  on  the  recom- 
mendation of  our  very  friendly  host  we  chartered  a 
galareta  driven  by  a  swarthy  native  who  knew  the 
country  thoroughly.  Our  host,  to  our  great  surprise, 
spoke  very  fair  English,  and  even  our  driver  could  say 
"  Yes,"  which  was  a  great  advance  upon  anything  we  had 
yet  met  with. 

It  is  singular  that  although  so  many  English  customs 
and  traditions  have  survived  amongst  the  Mahonese — 
who  are  dubbed  Inglesos  by  the  rest  of  the  island — yet 
the  only  island  to  agree  with  ourselves  in  its  rule  of  the 
road  should  be  Majorca,  both  Minorca  and  Iviza  following 
the  opposite  and  continental  fashion. 

Mounting  our  galareta  we  bumped  and  crashed  away 
over  the  worn  paving  of  the  town  and  emerged  by  the 
Barbarossa  gate  into  the  open  country.  The  surroundings 
of  Mahon  are  not  beautiful ;  flat,  windswept,  and  practi- 
cally treeless,  save  where  a  stunted  olive-tree  hunches  its 
back  to  the  blast,  the  most  conspicuous  feature  of  the 


In  Minorca  147 

landscape  is  its  countless  miles  of  stone  walls.  If  we  had 
thought  Majorca  stony,  it  was  only  because  we  had  not 
seen  Minorca.  Majorca  is  a  land  of  fields  intersected  by 
walls — Minorca  a  land  of  walls  interspersed  with  fields. 
Once  off  the  high  road  one  becomes  involved  in  a  laby- 
rinth of  narrow  lanes  bordered  by  stone  walls  four  or  five 
feet  thick,  and  varying  in  height  from  six  to  ten  feet, 
between  which  one  wanders  as  in  an  overgrown  aqueduct. 
Every  field,  however  small — and  some  of  them  are  patches 
but  a  few  yards  square — is  enclosed  by  a  prodigious 
rampart  of  loose  stones,  within  which  cows  and  donkeys 
graze  as  though  at  the  bottom  of  a  quarry.  These  walls 
serve  a  double  purpose  in  sheltering  the  crops  and  the 
animals  from  the  wind,  and  in  relieving  the  land  of  a 
certain  proportion  of  superabundant  stone. 

As  may  be  imagined,  a  cross-country  tramp  in  Minorca 
is  attended  with  considerable  difficulty,  and  in  visiting  the 
talayots  it  is  essential  to  have  a  guide  who  knows  his 
way  about  and  who  can  direct  one  through  the  maze  of 
obstacles  that  has  to  be  threaded  in  attaining  some 
tumulus  that  rises  like  a  landmark  half  a  mile  away. 
Much  of  the  land  is  under  wheat — the  crop  much  behind 
that  of  Majorca — and  this  has  to  be  carefully  skirted,  or 
waded  through  with  an  eye  to  the  barest  patches  of 
ground ;  other  fields  are  devoted  to  pasture,  where  hand- 
some mauve  thistles  flourish  abundantly  in  the  rocky  soil, 
in  company  with  periwinkles,  borage,  yellow  daisies, 
white  clover,  and  sweet  alyssum.  As  a  rule  the  enclosures 
can  be  entered  and  quitted  by  the  barrtras — light  wooden 


148  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

barriers  kept  in  place  by  blocks  of  stone  and  removed  for 
the  passage  of  cattle ;  but  occasionally  we  were  obliged  to 
scale  the  walls  by  means  of  projecting  footholds  built  into 
their  sides,  whereat  spotted  cows  ceased  grazing,  to  gaze 
with  mild  surprise  at  the  unusual  spectacle  of  two  ladies 
performing  gymnastic  feats  in  company  with  a  camera 
and  tripod. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour's  arduous  progression  brought  us 
to  the  talayot  of  Trepuco,  said  to  be  one  of  the  largest  in 
the  island,  but  by  no  means  that  in  the  best  preservation. 
The  Minorcan  talayots — a  word  akin  to  atalaya,  a  watch- 
tower — consist  of  solid  cone-shaped  cairns  built  of  roughly 
dressed  stone  blocks,  often  of  gigantic  size.  These  cairns 
range  from  thirty  to  sixty  feet  in  diameter,  and  from 
twenty  to  thirty  feet  in  height ;  but  at  close  quarters  they 
are  far  less  conspicuous  objects  than  might  be  supposed, 
partly  owing  to  their  general  resemblance  to  the  stone 
walls  surrounding  them,  and  partly  to  the  enveloping  scrub 
of  lentiscus  and  oleaster  which  conceals  their  outline  and 
lends  them  the  appearance  of  a  natural  mound.  Some  of 
them  are  in  an  extremely  dilapidated  condition — others 
again,  like  the  talayot  of  Torello  of  which  a  picture  is  given, 
are  in  almost  perfect  preservation.  It  is  supposed  that 
they  are  the  burial  cairns  of  chieftains,  but  though  cinerary 
urns  are  said  to  have  been  found  inside  them  in  one  or 
two  instances,  this  theory  alone  does  not  satisfactorily 
account  for  other  features  of  these  curious  monuments. 
In  some  of  them  traces  of  interior  chambers  have  been 
discovered,  others  have  a  sloping  ramp  running  round  the 


In  Minorca  149 

outside  as  a  means  of  ascent,  and  the  talayot  of  Torello 
has  an  aperture  like  a  window,  on  a  level  with  the  summit 
of  the  mound,  the  reason  of  which  it  is  impossible  to 
guess. 

Not  one  of  these  tumuli  has,  I  believe,  yet  been 
properly  examined,  and  their  purpose — whether  sepulchre, 
watch-tower,  refuge,  or  accessory  to  some  strange 
religious  rite — is  still  a  secret,  though  the  latter  sup- 
position finds  support  in  the  fact  that  where  there  is  a 
talayot  there  is  in  many  cases  an  altar  in  its  immediate 
vicinity.  These  altars  or  mesas — tables,  as  the  natives 
call  them — are  composed  of  two  gigantic  slabs  of  dressed 
stone,  the  one  imbedded  in  an  upright  position  in  the 
ground,  the  other  balanced  horizontally  upon  it.  The 
altar  of  Trepuco  consists  of  two  fine  monoliths,  the  lower 
one  measuring  nearly  nine  feet  in  width  and  standing 
over  seven  feet  out  of  the  ground ;  but  that  of  the  Talato- 
de-Dalt  far  exceeds  these  measurements,  the  upright  slab 
being  nearer  twelve  feet  in  height  and  proportionately 
wide.  When  the  upper  stone  had  been  laid  in  its  horizon- 
tal position  it  was  apparently  considered  ill-balanced,  and 
a  prop  has  been  added  in  the  shape  of  a  leaning  slab 
surmounted  by  a  wedge.  The  group  of  monuments  at 
this  spot  is  the  most  complete  that  will  be  found  in 
Minorca ;  the  tumulus  itself  is  in  a  chaotic  state,  but  the 
altar  is  of  unusual  size,  and  surrounding  it  are  seen  traces 
of  a  circle  of  monoliths  of  nearly  the  same  height  as  the 
pedestal.  Just  outside  this  enclosure  is  a  so-called 
megalithic  dwelling  into  which  one  can  creep  on  hands 


150  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

and  knees;  the  walls  are  of  rough  stone,  and  two  short, 
thick  pillars,  about  three  feet  high,  uphold  the  large  slabs 
that  form  the  roof.  The  members  of  the  priesthood — if 
such  they  were  who  tenanted  these  modest  habitations — 
certainly  did  not  err  on  the  side  of  luxury  in  their  homes. 

In  few  countries  perhaps  would  the  splendid  monoliths 
of  these  altars  and  the  tempting  quarries  of  building 
material  provided  by  these  talayots  have  survived 
destruction  as  they  have  in  Minorca.  The  very  pro- 
fusion of  stone,  constituting  not  merely  a  drug  but  a 
curse  throughout  the  island,  has  safeguarded  these  old 
monuments  more  effectually  than  any  protection  founded 
on  sentiment  could  have  done,  for  it  has  simply  never 
been  worth  anybody's  while  to  utilise  them. 

All  the  Minorcan  country-folk  live  in  excellent  stone 
houses,  as  might  be  supposed,  and  before  leaving  the 
island  we  had  the  opportunity  of  visiting  a  solitary 
outlying  homestead  tenanted  by  a  peasant  family  of  a 
superior  class.  Although  we  were  fully  prepared  to  find 
signs  of  homely  comfort  in  the  dwellings  of  so  industrious 
a  people  as  the  Minorcans,  yet  it  was  a  surprise  to  see 
how  excellent — not  to  say  luxurious — were  the  appoint- 
ments of  this  house.  Not  a  room  but  was  better 
furnished  than  those  of  any  fonda  at  which  we  had 
stayed.  The  spacious  bedrooms  had  handsome  bed- 
steads, large  wardrobes — an  article  of  furniture  never 
seen  in  Majorca — and  one  of  them  actually  contained 
a  fine  toilet-table  a  VAnglaise,  with  a  marble  top  and 
sets  of  small  drawers.  The  daughter  of  the  house 


In  Minorca  151 

showed  us  the  kitchen,  the  dairy — with  its  big  white 
cheeses  destined  for  the  Mahon  market — and  then 
she  took  us  upstairs  to  the  attics,  where  hanks  of  home- 
spun yarn  hung  from  the  ceiling  in  company  with 
hundreds  of  dried  sausages  and  home-cured  hams.  In 
one  small  and  otherwise  empty  room  were  half  a  dozen 
faggots  carefully  propped  together  in  the  centre  of  the 
floor  within  a  ring  of  sheeps'  wool — a  scene  so  suggestive 
of  sorcery  that  our  thoughts  involuntarily  turned  to 
some  magic  rite  connected  with  the  mysterious  cromlechs 
of  the  land.  But  the  girl  informed  us  that  this  was  a 
depot  for  live  stock  destined  for  the  table — and  pointing 
out  myriads  of  snails  adhering  to  the  sticks  she  assured 
us  that  they  were  very  excellent  eating  when  fried. 

The  neatness  and  spotlessness  of  the  whole  place  it 
would  be  impossible  to  exaggerate.  The  Minorcan 
housewife  is  popularly  supposed  to  live  with  a  broom 
in  one  hand  and  a  pail  of  whitewash  in  the  other,  and 
the  industry  and  morality  of  the  islanders  make  them 
valued  colonists  in  any  land  to  which  they  may  emigrate. 
Early  trained  to  habits  of  thrift  and  diligent  labour  in 
a  hard  school,  the  peasants  have  no  sympathy  with 
those  who  think  to  sit  under  the  manana  tree  and  yet 
to  prosper,  and  the  tragic  fate  awaiting  them  is  thus 
recorded  in  an  ancient  Minorcan  verse: 

Juan  and  Juanita 
Go  to  the  wood; 
Monday  they  saddle, 
Tuesday  they  start, 


152  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 


Wednesday  they  arrive, 
Thursday  they  cut  wood, 
Friday  they  load  it  up, 
Saturday  they  set  off, 
Sunday  they  come  home ; 
That  is  why  they  died  of  hunger. 


On  April  28th  we  left  Mahon  and  went  to  Ciudadela 
on  the  west  coast,  the  town  which  formed  the  capital  of 
Minorca  up  to  the  time  of  the  English  occupation.  The 
two  towns  are  connected  by  a  splendid  road  that  runs 
through  the  very  centre  of  the  island ;  and  as  the  distance 
is  little  more  than  thirty  miles  the  journey  can  easily  be 
accomplished  by  carriage  in  a  day.  We  started  at  nine 
o'clock  in  our  galareta  of  the  previous  day ;  our  valises 
were  bestowed  upon  the  front  seat  beside  the  driver,  and 
we  ourselves  climbed  into  the  closed  part  of  the  vehicle  at 
the  back,  not  sorry  to  be  sheltered  from  the  wind.  We 
had  an  excellent  mule,  both  strong  and  active,  who  trotted 
briskly  on  the  flat  and  pegged  away ^up  the  hills  as  though 
walking  for  a  wager — a  characteristic  which  we  observed 
most  of  the  mules  to  share. 

Leaving  the  town  we  bowled  away  along  the  great 
main  road  of  the  island.  Seen  in  the  brilliant  sunshine 
of  an  April  morning,  with  a  blue  sky  overhead,  green 
crops  in  the  fields  and  wild  flowers  spangling  the  wayside, 
even  the  country  around  Mahon  becomes  invested  with 
a  kind  of  fictitious  beauty ;  but  what  the  hideous  desola- 


"  Our  valises  were  on  the  front  seat  beside  the  driver,  ani 
ive  ourselves  climbed  into  the  closed  part  of  the  galareta  at 
the  back  .  .  ," 

(page  152) 


In  Minorca  153 

tion  must  be  of  these  endless  stone  walls  seen  on  a  grey 
winter's  day  or  under  the  parching  drought  of  summer  it 
is  hardly  possible  to  conceive. 

"When  the  North  wind  goes  down  the  West  wind  is 
already  knocking  at  the  door,"  says  a  Minorcan  proverb, 
and  the  few  trees  that  grow  in  these  exposed  regions  are 
driven  to  the  most  ridiculous  subterfuges  in  their  endea- 
vours to  protect  their  foliage  from  the  blasts  that  sweep 
for  ever  across  the  island.  The  prevailing  tree  is  the 
oleaster,  or  wild  olive,  which  turns  its  back  to  the  north, 
and  with  bent  stem  and  long  hair  all  blown  in  one  direc- 
tion assumes  as  nearly  as  possible  the  appearance  of  an 
attenuated  crumb-brush.  Some  of  the  trees  are  absolutely 
ludicrous  in  their  contortions,  and  we  could  not  help 
laughing  at  the  sight  of  a  whole  row  of  them  growing 
beside  a  low  stone  wall,  over  which  they  had  flung  them- 
selves in  their  attempts  to  escape ;  falling  on  their  hands 
and  knees,  so  to  speak,  in  the  next  field,  they  had  picked 
themselves  up  again  and  gone  on  running,  leaving  their 
roots  and  trunks  on  the  farther  side  of  the  wall — quite 
content  so  long  as  the  very  tips  of  their  branches  remained 
alive  and  out  of  reach  of  the  dreaded  north  wind. 

At  the  seventh  kilometre  stone  out  of  Mahon  our  driver 
pulled  up,  and  tying  the  mule  to  a  gate,  he  led  us  across 
a  field  to  show  us  what  he  called  a  bonito  casito — a  good 
little  house — built  by  megalithic  man. 

At  the  base  of  a  ruined  talayot  constructed  of  enormous 
stones  and  overgrown  with  ivy,  we  saw  a  small  opening, 
about  a  yard  in  height,  leading  into  a  low  passage  some 


154  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

eight  feet  long,  at  the  further  end  of  which  is  a  still 
smaller  doorway,  measuring  only  two  feet  six  inches  by 
two  feet.  Once  through  this,  however,  one  enters  a 
palatial  abode  not  less  than  twenty  feet  long,  seven  wide, 
and  nine  high — which,  although  it  will  hardly  bear  com- 
parison in  point  of  grandeur  with  the  stone  dwellings 
built  by  the  Minorcans  nowadays  for  their  pigs,  was  yet 
so  immeasurably  superior  to  the  modest  priestly  dwelling 
of  Talato-de-Dalt  that  we  concluded  that  we  were  looking 
upon  the  residence  of  none  other  than  the  arch-druid  or 
high-priest  himself — and  that  it  was  through  this  very 
doorway  that  the  venerable  personage  used  to  emerge  on 
all  fours,  robed  in  full  canonicals. 

Of  all  the  talayots  that  we  examined  this  is  the  only  one 
that  contained  an  inner  chamber  of  any  size,  most  of  the 
so-called  megalithic  dwellings  consisting  of  small  cavities 
or  recesses  that  can  only  by  a  stretch  of  imagination  be 
supposed  to  have  served  as  human  habitations. 

As  one  approaches  the  centre  of  the  island  the  most 
conspicuous  object  in  the  level  landscape  is  the  conical 
outline  of  Monte  Toro,  a  mere  molehill  less  than  twelve 
hundred  feet  in  height,  but  raised  to  the  dignity  of  a 
mountain  from  the  accident  of  having  no  rival  in  Minorca. 
Upon  its  summit  is  seen  the  large  convent  and  church 
of  the  Augustines,  a  place  of  pilgrimage  for  the  islanders. 
At  noon  we  arrived  at  Mercadel,  a  tidy  and  commonplace 
little  village  forming  a  half-way  house  between  Mahon 
and  Ciudadela,  and  here  we  put  up  for  a  couple  of  hours 
to  rest  and  have  luncheon.  The  Governor  of  the  Balearics 


In  Minorca  155 

who  was  making  the  tour  of  Minorca  in  a  steam  diligence, 
arrived  almost  immediately  after  ourselves,  and  from  our 
window  we  could  watch  him  being  received  in  the  street 
by  the  local  officials,  between  whom  and  the  governor's 
suite  there  was  much  hat  raising  and  clapping  on  the 
back — the  latter  form  of  greeting  being  carried  out 
mutually  and  simultaneously  by  both  persons  concerned, 
with  a  peculiarly  genial  and  happy  effect.  The  governor's 
steam  diligence  overtook  us  again  before  we  reached 
Ciudadela,  and  our  mule,  taking  its  snorting  and  rattling 
as  a  challenge,  responded  by  racing  it  frantically  along  the 
high  road  for  more  than  a  mile  before  he  would  admit 
himself  beaten. 

On  leaving  Mercadel  we  made  a  detour  to  the  south  by 
way  of  San  Cristobal,  an  hour  distant,  where  Murray's 
guide-book  asserts  that  certain  "  fine  and  curious  tala- 
yots  "  are  to  be  found.  Our  search  for  these,  however, 
proved  a  wildgoose  chase,  for  all  our  questioning  of  the 
villagers  produced  nothing  beyond  four  quite  unimportant 
tumuli,  difficult  of  access  and  in  no  way  worth  visiting — 
our  driver  remarking  severely  that  he  knew  all  along  it 
would  be  so,  since  if  he  had  not  heard  of  the  monuments 
we  were  in  quest  of  it  was  quite  certain  they  did  not 
exist.  In  spite  of  this  crushing  observation  we  were  not 
altogether  sorry  to  have  come  to  San  Cristobal,  for  the 
road  passes  through  the  prettiest  country  we  had  yet  seen 
in  Minorca,  undulating  hills  wooded  with  pine  and  ilex, 
and  ditches  full  of  a  handsome  flowering  reed  not  unlike 
a  small  Pampas  grass. 


156  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

At  Ferrerias,  where  we  rejoined  the  high  road,  the  whole 
soil  is  so  impregnated  with  iron  that  at  a  little  distance 
one  might  have  imagined  the  landscape  to  be  tinted  by  a 
Swiss  Alpengluth — the  ruddy  hillsides  and  the  dark  red 
of  the  stone  walls  harmonising  strikingly  with  the  crimson 
flower  of  a  sheet  of  sainfoin  in  the  foreground.  The 
western  side  of  the  island  is  in  general  more  hilly  and 
more  timbered  than  the  eastern  coast,  some  clumps  of  tall 
Aleppo  pines  forming  picturesque  features  in  the  scene. 

When  within  a  couple  of  miles  of  Ciudadela  our  driver 
drew  up,  and  pointed  out  to  us  a  large  grey  mass  lying  in 
a  field  some  little  distance  from  the  road.  This  was  the 
Nau  de  Tudons,  one  of  the  most  remarkable  monuments 
in  the  island,  which  our  guide  was  particularly  anxious  to 
show  us ;  but  after  getting  down  and  wrestling  for  a  few 
moments  with  a  high  field-gate  he  returned  crestfallen  to 
the  carriage  to  say  that  the  gate  was  locked,  and  that  it 
would,  unfortunately,  not  be  possible  for  the  senoras  to 
visit  the  Nau,  as  there  was  no  other  way  of  approach. 
Assuring  him  loftily  that  locked  gates  were  as  nothing  in 
our  eyes  we  got  over  it,  to  his  great  astonishment,  and 
made  our  way  across  the  fields  towards  a  strange  erection 
unlike  any  other  we  had  hitherto  seen. 

The  Nau  de  Tudons — nau  is  the  patois  for  boat — is 
composed  of  enormous  blocks  of  stone  and  built  in  the 
form  of  an  upturned  boat  about  thirty  feet  in  length  and 
twelve  in  height.  The  rounded  bow  points  to  the  north, 
and  at  the  base  of  the  square  stern  is  a  so-called 
dwelling — a  retreat  barely  large  enough  to  accommodate 


<a        o 
-s:       "? 


Mif-^ 


12 


-     o 


A  short  ivalk   brought   us   to    tiic    altar    of    Torre    Trcn- 


cado 


(page  159) 


In  Minorca  157 

a  human  being.  It  is  supposed  that  the  interior  of  the 
Nau  itself  served  originally  as  a  habitation,  for  the 
centre  is  partially  hollow  and  is  roofed  over  with  gigantic 
slabs,  most  of  which  have  now  fallen  in.  There  is  some- 
thing strangely  pathetic  about  this  old  monument  raised 
by  a  long  vanished  race  that  has  left  memorials  of 
imperishable  stone  without  a  sign  or  a  word  to  record 
who  the  builders  were  or  whence  they  came.  Mysterious 
and  lonely  the  Nau  stands  out  against  the  sunset  sky ; 
a  couple  of  donkeys  graze  amongst  clumps  of  spurge  and 
asphodel,  and  a  stonechat  chacks  sharply  from  the 
topmost  slab  of  the  roof ;  but  the  tide  of  human  life  has 
long  receded  from  the  spot — never  to  return. 

At  seven  o'clock  we  reached  Ciudadela  and  drew  up  at 
the  Fonda  Feliciano  in  the  Plaza  Alfonso  III.  The 
sunset  had  cast  such  a  glamour  of  crimson  and  gold  over 
the  white  city  on  the  seashore  that  we  were  a  little 
disappointed  to  find  it  so  essentially  unromantic-looking 
at  close  quarters,  but  any  haven  was  welcome  after  seven 
hours'  shaking  in  a  galareta.  We  found  the  inn  to  be 
chiefly  frequented  by  persons  of  the  class — as  far  as  we 
could  judge — of  commercial  travellers,  several  of  whom 
dined  at  the  table  d'hote  that  evening.  The  fare  was 
ample,  but  the  cookery  far  more  greasy  and  less  refined 
than  in  Majorca ;  the  strangest  medley  of  eatables  made 
its  appearance  on  the  dish  sometimes — the  beef  being 
garnished  with  potatoes,  fat  bacon,  hunks  of  stewed 
cabbage,  garbanzos  —  enormous  white  beans — aniseed 
cake,  and  goodness  knows  what  besides,  so  that  during 


158  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

one  course  we  had  nine  different  things  on  our  plate  at 
once,  to  only  five  of  which  could  we  put  a  name.  Being 
very  tired  we  went  to  bed  early,  our  host  informing  us 
in  bad  English  as  he  lighted  us  upstairs  that  as  the  inn 
was  very  full  he  could  not  give  us  a  second  bedroom  till 
the  following  day.  The  fact  that  the  house  was  being 
rebuilt,  and  that  we  should  be  waked  at  five  o'clock  by 
workmen  pulling  down  a  floor  overhead,  he  prudently  left 
us  to  find  out  for  ourselves. 

There  are  several  excursions  to  be  made  from  Ciuda- 
dela,  and  the  two  days  we  spent  there  were  amply 
occupied  in  visiting  the  principal  megalithic  remains  in 
the  neighbourhood.  The  talayots  of  Hostal  which 
Murray's  guide-book  mentions,  we  found  uninteresting, 
besides  being  troublesome  to  get  to — much  traversing  of 
rocky  wheatfields  and  stone  walls  being  necessary  before 
reaching  them.  But  the  drive  to  Torre  Trencada  is 
well  worth  taking,  and  can  be  combined  with  a  visit 
to  Llafuda. 

Starting  at  nine  o'clock,  we  retraced  our  steps  along 
the  high  road  for  a  few  miles  and  then  turned  off  sharply 
by  a  cart  track  leading  across  the  fields.  The  pastures 
were  studded  with  outcrops  of  live  rock  turned  to  gold  by 
a  brilliant  orange-coloured  lichen,  and  innumerable  tiny 
field  flowers,  red  and  blue  pimpernels,  vetches,  and  a 
minute  orange  marigold,  spread  a  gay  little  carpet  under 
foot.  The  common  daisy  of  the  Balearics  is  not  the 
crimson-tipped  flower  of  our  lawns,  though  quite  as  wee 
and  modest ;  it  is  a  more  fragile  plant,  and  its  flower  has 


In  Minorca  159 

a  faint  mauve  tinge  which  on  being  dried  becomes  a 
bright  blue.  A  friend  of  ours  at  Kew  told  us  it  was  the 
Bellium  bellidioides  of  Linnseus. 

A  short  walk  brought  us  to  the  altar  of  Torre  Trencado, 
which  is  a  very  fine  one.  The  horizontal  stone  has  in 
its  lower  surface  a  clean  cut  socket  which  receives  the 
head  of  the  upright  slab,  but  in  spite  of  this  it  has 
needed  additional  support  in  the  shape  of  a  pillar  and 
wedge  like  the  mesa  at  Talato-de-Dalt.  One  would  give 
much  to  penetrate  the  secret  of  this  old-world  altar 
standing  in  its  great  solitude,  wrapped  in  the  silence  of 
the  ages.  For  what  strange  worship  of  sun  or  moon 
was  it  erected?  What  implacable  deity  demanded  a 
human  sacrifice?  Does  the  spirit  of  priest  or  victim 
ever  haunt  the  lonely  monument  at  twilight  and  hover- 
ing around  the  symbol  of  an  out- worn  faith  realise  that 
the  gods  themselves  have  passed  away  in  the  Gotter- 
dtimmerung  that  has  descended  upon  the  land  ? 

The  monuments  at  Llafiida,  although  exceedingly 
extensive,  are  in  a  state  of  chaotic  ruin,  the  monoliths 
lying  in  confusion  as  though  flung  to  the  ground  by  an 
earthquake.  The  position  is  partially  encircled  by  an 
immense  stone  wall,  ten  feet  in  height,  in  which  are 
built  two  or  three  small  megalithic  dwellings.  This  wall 
is  absolutely  typical  of  those  built  at  the  present  day  by 
the  Minorcans,  barring  the  fact  that  its  thickness  is  in 
places  not  less  than  fifteen  feet. 

From  the  neighbouring  talayot  a  fine  view  over  the 
surrounding  country  is  obtained — even  the  faint  blue 


160  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

mountains  of  Majorca  being  visible  across  the  water. 
I  had  a  somewhat  ludicrous  rencontre  upon  the  summit 
of  the  cairn,  for  just  as  I  reached  the  top  I  came  face  to 
face  with  a  big  brown  and  white  buzzard  who  was 
skimming  over  it  from  the  opposite  side.  It  would  be 
hard  to  say  which  of  us  was  the  most  startled ;  we  both 
stepped  back  hurriedly,  but  the  great  bird  was  so  close 
that  I  felt  the  wind  of  his  wings  in  my  face  and  could  see 
his  magnificent  golden  eyes  dilate  as  for  one  moment  he 
hung  motionless,  with  yellow  claws  upturned,  before  he 
swung  round  and  with  one  convulsive  flap  was  gone. 


One  of  the  pleasantest  drives  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Ciudadela  is  to  Son  Saura,  an  estate  about  six  miles 
distant  belonging  to  a  Minorcan  nobleman.  On  this 
occasion  we  drove  out  enfamille,  for  being  Sunday  after- 
noon not  only  was  the  waiter  sent  with  us  to  enjoy  an 
outing,  but  we  were  begged  by  our  hostess  to  allow  little 
Jose,  aged  six,  to  be  of  the  party.  Little  Jose  was 
weeping  dismally  on  the  doorstep  at  the  moment,  but  as 
soon  as  our  consent  was  given  his  tears  stopped  instan- 
taneously, and  he  was  hoisted  on  to  the  box  seat  next  the 
waiter,  under  whose  charge  he  was  put.  His  mother 
assured  us  that  he  would  be  good — but  we  had  already 
seen  quite  enough  of  Master  Jose  to  discount  this  state- 
ment. Our  hostess  appeared  to  have  no  sort  of  authority 
over  her  children ;  she  would  rave  and  shriek  at  them, 


In  Minorca  161 

and  occasionally  reduce  them  to  tears,  but  in  the  end 
they  invariably  got  their  own  way,  and  their  attitude 
towards  her  was  entirely  that  of  the  little  girl  in  an  old 
Minorcan  nursery  couplet  which  for  simplicity  and 
impertinence  it  would  be  hard  to  surpass  : 

The  Mother  says  to  her : 

Dirty  one!  Badly  brought-up  one! 

And  she  answers : 

You  !  You  were  the  same  ! 

I  may  add  at  once  that  little  Jose  did  not  belie  his 
character.  He  snatched  flowers  from  the  flower  beds, 
trampled  mercilessly  on  precious  young  tobacco  plants 
in  crossing  the  fields,  nearly  fell  into  a  large  reservoir, 
was  hauled  hurriedly  over  two  walls  at  the  imminent 
risk  of  overthrowing  a  whole  row  of  his  elders  and 
betters,  perilously  balanced  on  the  top — and  in  fact 
acted  as  a  complete  antidote  to  any  pleasure  which  the 
poor  harassed  waiter  might  otherwise  have  derived 
from  the  expedition.  We,  not  being  responsible  for 
the  child,  took  his  misdoings  less  to  heart,  and  when 
he  temporarily  disappeared  in  the  vicinity  of  an  open 
reservoir  we  were  able  to  search  the  surface  of  the 
water  for  bubbles  with  comparative  calm — confident 
that  Master  Jose's  career  had  not  been  such  as  to  arouse 
the  jealousy  of  the  gods. 

Son  Saura  is  a  pleasant-looking  house  surrounded 
by  a  large  garden  of  geraniums  and  verbenas,  roses  and 
lilacs,  all  in  bloom  at  the  time  of  our  visit.  The  estate 

12 


162  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

is  laid  out  with  orange  groves,  olive  and  vine  yards, 
corn  and  tobacco  plantations,  the  whole  admirably 
irrigated  from  two  immense  central  reservoirs.  In 
summer  water  has  to  be  sought  at  a  great  depth  in 
Minorca,  and  the  wells  being  too  deep  for  the  employ- 
ment of  the  Persian  wheel,  the  usual  method  of  raising 
the  water  is  by  means  of  a  large  windlass  turned  by  a 
donkey — one  bucket  being  let  down  as  the  other  is 
wound  up  to  the  top.  The  drinking  troughs  for  beasts 
which  stand  beside  these  wells  partake  of  the  archaic 
simplicity  and  durability  of  the  dolmens,  being  formed 
of  ponderous  stone  blocks  hollowed  out  to  the  required 
depth. 

The  modern  Minorcan  has  indeed  sundry  habits  not 
unworthy  of  the  megalithic  monuments  of  his  prede- 
cessors. The  stones  which  he  builds  into  his  field  walls 
are  hardly  less  vast  than  theirs,  and  the  palaces  he 
erects  for  his  pigs  bear  a  strong  family  likeness  to  the 
prehistoric  talayot ;  composed  entirely  of  loose  stones, 
with  a  cleverly  domed  roof,  these  buildings  form  quite 
a  feature  of  the  landscape  in  many  parts  of  the  island. 
The  smaller  ones  are  often  plain  huts,  but  the  larger 
ones  almost  always  have  tastefully  ornamented  roofs — 
some  resembling  the  step  pyramids  of  Sakkara,  others 
being  built  in  round  tiers  like  a  gigantic  wedding-cake. 
One — by  no  means  the  largest — which  we  entered  at 
Son  Saura,  and  of  which  a  picture  is  given,  measured 
not  less  than  twenty  feet  across,  inside,  and  twelve  or 
fifteen  feet  in  height ;  spacious,  clean,  and  delightfully 


In  Minorca  163 

cool  in  hot  weather,  these  houses  are  used  by  the  pigs 
of  Minorca  as  sleeping  quarters  at  night  and  lounges 
at  midday.  Any  attempt  to  photograph  the  occupants 
we  found,  however,  to  be  out  of  the  question  :  the  very 
sight  of  a  camera  filled  them  with  suspicion,  and  when 
this  was  followed  by  a  strategic  advance  their  worst  fears 
were  confirmed — with  volleys  of  shrieks  they  broke  up 
in  panic,  and,  with  ears  flapping  wildly,  went  off  helter 
skelter  with  all  the  abandon  of  their  Gadarene  ancestors. 

Acting  as  a  kind  of  pylon  to  the  above-mentioned 
palace  at  Son  Saura  is  a  curious  old  mesa,  unlike  any 
other  we  saw  in  the  island — the  horizontal  slab  being 
supported  on  two  upright  pillars,  each  of  which  has 
a  rude  capital  formed  by  a  separate  stone.  This  monu- 
ment is  possibly  of  a  different  date  from  the  other  altars, 
and  is  said  to  be  of  a  pattern  of  which — as  far  as  is 
known — only  one  other  specimen  exists,  in  the  island 
of  Malta. 

The  last  expedition  we  made  at  Ciudadela  was  to  visit 
the  rock  dwellings  at  Son  Morell — a  large  property  about 
an  hour  distant  from  the  town.  There  are  three  farm- 
houses upon  the  estate,  at  the  first  of  which  one  naturally 
draws  up  to  inquire  the  way,  and  unless  the  traveller 
is  very  careful  he  will  here  be  taken  to  see  two  wholly 
unimportant  tumuli  lying  at  some  distance  away  amongst 
stone  walls  and  a  waste  of  asphodel — the  peasants  being 
convinced  that  to  lead  a  foreigner  to  the  nearest  talayot 
is  the  surest  way  of  making  him  happy.  In  all  good 
faith  we  followed  an  ancient  man  across  the  fields,  and 


164  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

in  due  course  reached  the  talayots ;  it  was  quite  useless 
to  explain  to  our  guide  that  it  was  not  such  as  these 
we  were  in  search  of,  since  besides  being  very  deaf  he 
understood  no  word  of  Castillian,  and  when  we  remarked 
that  the  wind  was  very  high  he  replied  by  telling  us  that 
he  was  seventy-eight  in  January. 

After  much  useless  tramping  and  waste  of  time  we 
at  last  discovered  that  it  was  Son  Morell  de  Barrdnco  to 
which  we  ought  to  have  driven — the  Barranco  being 
the  ravine  containing  the  rock  dwellings — and  continuing 
our  route  across  the  fields  we  presently  came  to  the 
second  farm,  lying  within  a  few  minutes'  walk  of  the 
coast.  Leaving  the  carriage  here,  we  descended  on  foot 
towards  the  sea,  and  soon  came  upon  a  row  of  curious 
dwellings  excavated  in  the  rock  walls  of  a  narrow  valley. 
Three  of  the  caves  are  of  considerable  size,  and  in  the 
one  of  which  we  took  a  photograph  a  pillar  of  live  rock 
is  left  in  the  centre  to  support  the  roof.  All  have  neatly 
cut  doorways  and  windows,  and  one  of  the  house  fronts, 
as  will  be  seen,  shows  traces  of  decoration — a  cornice 
and  a  couple  of  fluted  pilasters  having  been  rudely 
chiselled  in  the  face  of  the  rock.  Sheep  and  goats  now 
inhabit  the  caves  ;  of  the  people  who  with  patient  labour 
constructed  their  dwellings  in  this  wild  and  lonely  ravine 
by  the  sea  no  memory  remains. 


On   the   1st   of  May  we  left  Ciudadela  and  returned 


1  s^    § 

Ql^      a 


o>  fs  'r- 

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Q     *-}     ^5 


to  C<j 

HI 


II 
I? 


In  Minorca  165 

to  Mahon,  stopping  for  luncheon  at  the  little  town  of 
Alayor,  just  off  the  main  road.  Seen  from  a  distance 
Alayor  is  a  veritable  fairy  city  set  upon  a  hill — glistening 
snow  white  in  the  sunshine — and  though  at  close  quarters 
it  is  no  longer  beautiful,  the  whiteness  of  the  houses  is 
so  dazzling  that  it  is  like  passing  through  snow-cuttings 
to  drive  through  the  streets,  and  we  were  glad  of  the 
green  glass  panes  of  our  galareta  to  protect  our  eyes 
from  the  blinding  glare.  Whitewash  is  indeed  a  mania 
among  the  Minorcans,  who,  not  content  with  applying  it 
to  the  outer  and  inner  walls  of  their  houses,  extend  it  to 
the  tiles  on  the  roof,  the  gutters,  chimneys,  outhouses, 
and  even  neighbouring  rocks.  Where  the  field  walls  are 
coped  with  freestone  this  also  is  whitened  for  miles, 
which  gives  the  landscape  the  curious  and  misleading 
effect  of  being  traversed  in  every  direction  by  high 
roads. 

Within  half  an  hour's  drive  of  Alayor  is  the  mesa  of 
Torralba — one  of  the  largest  in  the  island,  though  it 
loses  in  effect  by  being  encumbered  about  the  base  by 
bushes  and  debris.  The  horizontal  stone  is  said  to  have 
a  square  cavity  in  its  upper  surface,  as  though  to  contain 
the  blood  of  a  victim ;  but  as  our  outfit  did  not  include  a 
ladder  we  were  obliged  to  take  this  statement  on  trust. 

One  of  the  sudden  storms,  for  which  Minorca  is  noted, 
overtook  us  while  we  were  engaged  in  photographing 
the  altar.  The  sky  darkened,  and  without  a  moment's 
warning  such  a  deluge  of  rain  descended  that  we  were 
quite  unable  to  regain  our  carriage,  not  twenty  yards 


166  With  a  Camera  in  Majorca 

distant.  The  ground  was  swimming,  the  bushes  and 
long  grass  were  drenched,  and  when  ten  minutes  later 
the  sun  came  out  again  and  all  was  smiles,  the  only  dry 
member  of  the  party  was  the  camera — who  with  his  usual 
foresight  had  enveloped  himself  in  the  one  waterproof 
cape  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  rain. 

A  couple  of  hours  later  we  were  again  in  Mahon,  and 
at  five  o'clock  that  same  afternoon  we  had  boarded  the 
Palma  boat  and  were  taking  our  last  look  at  the  town  as 
we  glided  out  of  the  bay — past  the  flat  green  tray  of 
Hospital  Island,  past  the  little  rocky  hump  of  Bat  Island, 
where  some  fishermen  wave  to  us  as  their  boat  rocks 
on  our  swell — past  the  ruined  pepper-pot  tower  on  the 
Philipet  promontory — past  the  old  sea  walls  of  San 
Felipe  and  the  bristling  defences  of  the  Isabella  fortress 
opposite — and  as  we  enter  the  open  sea  a  chill  wind 
springs  up. 

At  daybreak  we  land  once  more — and  for  the  last  time 
— at  the  now  familiar  quay  at  Palma,  and  are  rattled 
through  the  streets  that  three  short  months  ago  were 
new  and  strange  of  aspect  in  our  eyes. 

Our  holiday  in  the  south  is  over.  It  is  the  first  week 
of  May :  strawberries  and  cherries  are  in  the  market,  and 
the  voice  of  the  cuckoo  is  heard  in  the  land.  The  pigeons 
are  wheeling  in  flocks  around  the  sunlit  tower  of  San 
Nicolas,  and  myriads  of  swifts  still  weave  their  tireless 
flight  over  the  town.  But  the  swallows  have  gone 
northwards,  and  we  must  follow  them.  Two  busy  days 
are  spent  in  packing  and  in  final  arrangements  for  the 


In  Minorca  167 

return  home ;    and    on   the   5th  of   May  we  board   the 
Miramar  for  Barcelona. 

It  is  a  marvellously  lovely  evening.  The  wide  plain 
is  wrapped  in  shimmering  shades  of  pink  and  violet, 
and  brilliant  against  the  deep  cobalt  of  the  Sierra 
stand  out  the  white  houses  of  the  town.  Cutting  the 
western  horizon  in  dark  silhouette  are  the  wooded  slopes 
of  Bellver — the  castle  arch  spanning  a  glowing  fragment 
of  the  sunset  where  the  gules  and  or  of  Aragon  are  once 
more  blazoned  in  the  sky.  The  harbour  is  a  sheet  of 
gold,  and  across  the  ever  widening  stretch  of  water 
Palma  has  already  dwindled  to  a  doll's  city,  where  the 
great  cathedral  is  the  last  object  on  which  our  eyes 
linger.  A  spark  breaks  out  on  the  old  Moorish  tower  as 
we  glide  past  Porto  Pi,  some  soldiers  wave  a  last  good- 
bye from  the  earthworks  of  San  Carlos,  the  darkening 
mountain  slopes  recede  as  we  reach  the  portal  of  Cala 
Figuera — and  at  last  we  are  clear  of  the  bay  of  Palma. 

A  golden  moon  hangs  in  the  indigo  vault  above  us,  and 
our  wake  cleaves  a  shining  path  straight  up  to  the  old 
white  city  that  is  vanishing  from  our  sight.  And  passing 
out  into  the  night  on  a  sea  of  glass  we  half  expect  to 
hear  once  more  the  solemn  midnight  cry — 

"Alobado  sea  el  Senor  /  las  doce,  y  sereno!" 


FINIS. 


UNWIN  BROTHERS,  LIMITED,  THE  GRESHAM  PRESS,  WOEING  AND  LONDON. 


THROUGH   CORSICA  WITH  A 
CAMERA 

BY    MAKG-AEET    D'ESTE 

Crown  8vo,  cloth  extra,  Is.  6d.  net. 


"Observant,  animated  and  agreeably  sensitive  of  the  charm  of  the 
restful  island  it  describes,  it  will  be  read  with  advantage  and  interest  by 
every  one  who  fosters  ideas  of  some  day  going  there." — Scotsman. 

"  The  book  has  a  delightful  touch  of  feminine  vivacity,  and  the  camera 
is  almost  as  important  in  the  production  of  it  as  the  pen." — Observer. 

"  Miss  d'Este  gives  a  very  attractive  account  of  Ajaccio." — Spectator. 

"Margaret  d'Este  gives  a  picturesque  account  of  her  wanderings  all 
over  the  island,  in  and  out  of  the  beaten  track,  and  tells  us  that  she  found 
its  principal  charm  in  its  wild  freedom,  magnificent  scenery  and  delightful 
climate . ' ' — Daily  Graphic. 

"The  reviewer  is  tempted  at  almost  every  page  to  quote,  so  full  of 
description  is  this  charming  book,  but  space  forbids.  .  .  .  We  cannot 
remember  enjoying  any  book  so  much  since  the  days  when  William  Blake 
told  the  tale  of  his  journeyings." — Daily  Chronicle. 

"A  facile,  charming  style  of  writing;  a  quick,  accurate  observation  of 
men,  beasts,  flowers,  and  things." — Photographic  Monthly. 

"There  are  no  fewer  than  seventy-eight  photographs  by  Mrs.  B.  M. 
King  and  the  author  in  this  charming  book  of  travel  far  from  the  mad- 
ding crowd.  ...  An  unusually  well-written  and  well-illustrated  book."- 
Northem  Whig. 

"  The  authoress  has  given  us  some  delightful  pen  sketches  of  the 
scenery,  delicate  little  vignettes*  of  local  colour,  and  strongly  sketched- 
in  characters  of  the  natives,  and  the  illustrations  are  decidedly  enticing." 
— Photographic  News. 

"  The  book  is  one  of  the  brightest  of  recent  travel  volumes.  Mrs.  King's 
photography  is  a  worthy  contribution  to  the  work,  and  is  worth  studying 
by  would-be  picture  makers,  for  its  good  placing  of  masses  within  the 
space,  and  for  the  strong  yet  not  harsh  way  in  which  bold  patches  of 
deep  shadow  are  placed  against  broad  expanses  of  light." — Photogram. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Ofc 


REC'D  LD 

AUG  1 8  1956 

160ct5fgC 


OCT291961 

DEAD 

llDec'62JM 

LD  21-100m-9,'47(A5702sl6)476 


C'D  LD 

NOV  1>      . 

i»63J» 


LD 

MAR  1  2  1963 


